Mummer's Dance
by Dreamingfox
Summary: Ramza and his troop have left Ivalice for Westeros only to stumble upon a world threatened by war. Can a true hero exist in Westeros or will he fall like so many others? Chapter 8 - The Wall.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note -

This is a WIP. If I continue this fic there might be some major changes.

Please Read and Review as feedback is always good for my writing process.

* * *

Ramza

Cerulean skies marred only by the occasional cloud warmed the road for the band of travelers as they explored the lands of Westeros. Their last job had been profitable, even in the eyes of the eldest of the group.

"We should have enough coin to procure some decent food," Cid muttered as he walked up to the youth. A veteran of two wars back in Ivalice the old soldier had taken the transition to Westeros the worst. "The butcher was glad to see our delivery of those aurochs, but I'm just glad we don't have to mind them any longer. Damned beasts are nearly as stubborn as behemoths."

Ivalice had creatures similar to the aurochs, though the bison or buffalo as they were known were never domesticated. Farmers in Ivalice preferred to raise chocobo as the giant fowl were capable of fending off most predators and their innate magical abilities made them fierce mounts. As Westeros did not have chocobo and had few large predators save for panthers and wolves aurochs were the primary chattel while a beast known as a horse was the preferred means of mounted transportation.

Helping to herd some two score aurochs had been the most dangerous job that the group had accepted in the two months since they had been sent to this world through Mustadio's strange dimensional portal machine. Only Mustadio, Agrias, Alicia, and Lavian had remained behind in Ivalice as few thought that the quartet a threat to the restructured government or to the church.

"What do we do now?" the grizzled old man inquired.

"We follow the river until it crosses King's Road," Ramza stated without even bothering to look at the map. "I'm sure we'll find another job."

Cid sighed. As the oldest member of the group the bulk of their business dealings were forced upon him as their employers seemed to take the elderly men more seriously. It was much easier for Cid to take a hard stance and be firm with their employers while Beowulf could amicably haggle for a more reasonable wage. Even then it was hard for them to find honest work as most viewed their youth as a detriment. The "gang" of inexperienced youths were overlooked, few believing that they would stand their ground against even half their number of grown men. Add to that fact that a third of their number were girls/young women and their potential employers were likely to seek to employ others.

"We've been here for two months and managed two jobs," the second part of their business front stated. "And the first was mere happenstance. Had that band of brigands not attacked us we would not have been able to collect the bounty on them."

Ramza was about to shrug when a wolf's cry interrupted the trio's discussion. Signaling to the group behind him and Cid rushed ahead while Beowulf took command of the remainder of the group. Pauline, Wilfrid, and Temperance chased after the pair before the group spread their formation.

It did not take long for them to spot the two youths throwing stones at a lone wolf. Neither child appeared to be older than 10, and at that they were doubtlessly unarmed.

"Stop!" Ramza shouted as he placed reached for the hilts of his blades. He had hoped to reassure the children so that they would cease throwing stones at the wolf. By shifting the wolf's attention to him as a possible threat he would allow Pauline and Beowulf to reach the children and escort them to safety while Temperance and Cid circled behind the beast. Instead he found himself dumbfounded as the wolf sprang past the children and assume a defensive position as though it sought to guard them.

Holding up his hands to appear non-threatening he stopped his progress.

"Stop right there Lannister," the younger of the two demanded.

Ramza resisted the urge to glance around as he came to the conclusion that the girl was addressing him. "I am no Lannister."

"You can't fool me," the dirty girl said. As if to enforce her argument the wolf growled menacingly.

"I am no Lannistar," Ramza sighed. In the handful of months since their arrival he had learned as much as he could of this land – their customs, nobles, and laws in particular. "I am Ramza Snow."

The girl eyed him curiously, though the boy quickly accepted the name.

"We heard a wolf," he stated. "As we are taking several aurochs to the next town to be sold I thought that there was a pack of wolves threatening our herd."

"For farmers you are well armed," she noted, her eyes noting the swords at his hips.

"We are actually sell-swords," he admitted. "We helped a farmer escort his herd to the last town but he was short of coin so he gave us a pair of aurochs as payment. Since the last holdfast purchased the rest of the herd we are headed to the next village or castle to sell the pair we have."

"Well she's not a wolf," the girl stated, "she's a direwolf."

"Direwolf? I thought there weren't any direwolves south of the Wall." Eying the beast he noted that it was far larger than any wolf he'd seen thus far.

"Nymeria's mine!" she proclaimed protectively.

"Yet you were trying to drive her off," Pauline stated as the archer stepped out of the woods behind the girl.

Startled, the girl spun around even as her pet moved to consider the possible threat. Wrapping her arms around the beast's neck the girl cautiously eyed the five strangers. "I'm trying to protect her!"

Ramza waved his hand, signaling for the others to set their weapons aside. "From what?"

"Or who?" Cid asked. As gruff as he was, the grizzled old man was far more tactful and gentle than he appeared. "Tell us your story girl."

* * *

Eddard

The camp was aflutter with activity as news of the incident spread. Many had heard Sansa's pleading cries as she and Joffrey had returned; the latter's sword arm a bloody mess. Though it had taken awhile for both to share their tale to the King, Queen, and the Hand, Cersei had moved quickly ordering her brother and the Lannistar men to Arya, the butcher's boy, and Nymeria. He himself was about to mount his trusted steed when another cry went out.

"She's here," Jory cried out breathlessly as he rushed to his lord. "Arya has returned."

"By herself?"

Jory shook his head, "The butcher's boy is with her, as is Nymeria." He paused, catching his breath. "They were accompanied by a group of travelers."

Something about Jory's statement bothered the Hand. "Where are they now?"

"The Lannister men have taken them to the King."

"Get Sansa," he ordered. "Bring her to the King's tent."

Even in his haste to reach the King's tent Eddard refused to break into a run. As the King's Hand and the Lord of Winterfell he could not allow his emotions to taint his honor and dignity.

Outside of the King's tent stood several figures. Though most appeared to have no more than 16 years on them there were two or three of them that appeared to be in their late twenties. Opposite them stood a greater number of Lannister guards. Both groups parted, allowing the Hand to enter the tent.

Several Lords stood to the side behind Robert as he sat on a stiff chair placed upon a wooden stage. To his other side Cersei stood beside the prince on a lower stage, the prince was seated and his arm in a bloody sling. Before them Arya stood between a blond youth and gruff old man. The blond held a leash though Nymeria appeared to not need it as she sat calmly at his side.

"What is the meaning of this?" the Hand demanded as he announced himself to those gathered. "Why was my daughter brought here before I was even informed that she had returned?"

Even as he hugged Arya he turned to look at Robert yet it was the blond youth's companion that answered, "She wished to have this matter addressed and resolved immediately."

Robert nodded, "That she did. The way Joffrey tells it one would think that they would have slunk off to the woods like cravens. Your daughter is brave beyond her years."

"Brave yes," Cersei interjected, "but foolish. She and the butcher's boy should never have attacked Joffrey."

"Only because he attacked Mycah first," Ayra replied hotly. Glaring daggers at the injured prince she dared him to contradict her. "He drew his sword, Lion's Tooth, and poked Mycah under the eye saying that he wouldn't hurt him much."

As if on cue the older boy stepped forward, turning his face so that the king could see the wound.

"Mycah was backing up into the river trying to get away from Joffrey"

"Prince Joffrey," Cersei corrected.

"Prince Joffrey looked to injure Mycah further so I clocked him over the head with a stick. Once Prince Joffrey was distracted Mycah ran for the woods. That's when Prince Joffrey decided to come after me with Lion's Tooth. If not for Nymeria he would have gotten me too. She dragged him down once he dropped his sword. That's when I told her to let him go and she did. I told him that she'd only hurt him a little and then I threw Lion's Tooth into the river."

King Robert eyed Arya then glanced at Mycah. The butcher's boy flinched then reflexively bowed his head. "Is that what happened?"

"Y-yes mi- my king," he blubbered as he wilted under the king's gaze.

Finally Robert turned his gaze to Joffrey. "Lying to the King is a punishable offense," he declared.

"Joffrey is not lying," Cersei interrupted. "He's the Prince – princes do not lie."

"That is enough from you," Robert barked as he gripped the arm of his chair. "Let Joffrey speak for himself, after all, it was his arm that was injured, not his tongue."

All eyes turned to Joffrey as he told his version of the incident – finding Arya with Mycah, then Mycah challenging him to a fight only for Arya and her direwolf to intervine, of them beating him bloody then throwing his blade into the river before running off.

"I know not what to make of this," Robert grumbled.

Eddard could see the bind that his friend was in. As the King he was the one who would need to decide which version of the story was the truth or at least truer version. Yet the implications either way could be damning.

"Milord," the grizzled old man that had escorted Arya back to camp finally spoke up, "from all accounts it was Prince Joffrey who drew his sword first. According to the girl and her friend he even drew blood before they attacked him. In his own tale it was he who drew his blade when he challenged the boy. Though he is still just a boy, he is nearly a man grown. Has his instructor not taught him that one should not draw steel so lightly? It would be one thing for him to have taken up a stick and challenged either Mycah or Arya, but he drew Lion's Tooth. It might have been something else if Arya or Mycah also had steel, but they did not."

"He is the Prince," Cersei proclaimed. "He knows how to use it."

The old man nodded his accent, "He may know how to use it, but does he know when to use it?"

"I taught the boy all he knows!" bellowed the Lannister's Master of Arms.

"So you taught him to draw steel against unarmed children?" Ned inquired.

The Master of Arms turned a dark purple as he failed to utter an appropriate reply.

"What is your name?" Cersei asked the traveler.

"You may call me Cid."

"And where do you hail from?"

"Here and there," he replied, "though most recently we were of the Free Cities."

'That would explain his accent,' the Hand thought as he tried to take the man's measure.

Robert nodded, glade to have the talk move away from the incident between the youths. "Cid is right," he finally decided. "Children are children, and sometimes they get hurt. It is fortunate that no serious injuries resulted."

"What of Joff's arm?" Cersei demanded.

"Perhaps it will make him think twice whenever he thinks to draw his blade," Robert stated firmly. "The Gods know that if Rhaegar had been taught to think twice or more he might be sitting on the throne now instead of me."

All who knew Robert the King knew that he did not invoke the late prince's name lightly, and those present knew to mind their tongues.

"Joff should be glad that Arya had a stick in her hand and not a sword else Tommen would be my heir now," he added.

For a moment no one dared to say anything as the king made to stand up. "What of the bitch?" Cersei finally said unrelentingly.

"What of her?" he replied.

"It attacked the Prince," she stated, glaring at the leashed beast.

"She was protecting her mistress," Cid stated. "Would not the Prince's Hound or any other guard have attacked his attacker had the situation been reversed? Would you punish them for defending their master?"

Again Robert nodded. "Cid is correct. The bitch did nothing warranting punishment. Be glad that I have decided to let things stand as they are and not to punish Joffrey for lying to the King. He is fortunate his actions did not start a war as Rhaegar's did."

* * *

Marach

The sound of clashing metal had long been replaced by that of fire-hardened wood clashing with wood and occasionally metal once the group had learned that their magic was far less effective in this world than they had been in their home world. Phoenix Downs were still capable of reviving an unconscious companion, but casting Revive would not prevent death. Their potions could heal almost any injury but they had only taken so many potions with them when they had left Ivalice.

In the two months that they had been in Westeros the team's primary healers had been forced to relearn essentially everything they had learned as chemists. For so long they had been used to being able to purchase completed potions they were now forced to find the individual components and brew the potions that they needed. As things currently stood they were able to brew basic potions and antidotes, just enough to alleviate the bumps and bruises from strenuous training with wooden weapons.

"Next?" Cid's voice called out to the group.

Eying the other youths, Marach sighed before standing up. Grabbing hold of his whale whisker staff he rolled his neck even as he stretched his back.

"What are you up to?" a new voice demanded.

The olive skinned youth noted the two score of knights in crimson cloaks standing around the camp.

"We are practicing," Cid stated as he eyed a particularly gruff man in the group of newcomers.

"He's the Lannister Master of Arms," his sister whispered without moving her lips. It was a skill that they had both learned during their training as assassins that continued to be useful in these times of peace that the group was supposedly experiencing.

"The one that was upset at Cid's remark about the prince's improper training?" he needed not ask for clarification. Though he had not been in the King's tent word of what had happened quickly spread throughout their camp and the other camps.

"You're practicing with sticks?" the Master of Arms scoffed.

"They are staves," Cid corrected.

"Do you not trust your boys with real steel?" It was a weak attempt to provoke the Cid. Marach doubted that this Master of Arms would have dared such had he known of Thunder God's reputation.

"I trust them with steel more than I trust you with it," Cid replied. "Tonight we are practicing with staves, though we have steel as well."

"Perhaps the reason why you have yet to find any work is because your boys cannot handle their steel," one of the Lannister knights japed.

"I'd wager that my wood is capable of besting five of you with steel." Those around him backed away, allowing the crimson cloaks to see him. From where he was he locked eyes with Ramza before the blond nodded.

From ten paces away he could hear the red cloaks muttering amongst themselves as they eyed the dark skinned stranger. Finally, "What do you wager?"

"One hundred gold dragons," Marach stated. "But since it is just myself against five of you I would think that you should put up at least two hundred dragons."

From where he stood he could see the Master of Arms sneer.

"Of course, that's assuming that you aren't honorable men," Cid interrupted. "An honest man would put his hundred dragons against mine, and since there are five of you that would be five hundred dragons. But since my boy's twice the man you are I'll let you each put in fifty dragons apiece."

"But the boy's using wood," someone else chimed in. The speaker wore a dark gray cloak, suggesting that he was from Winterfell.

"Lord Stark," Cid said with a slight bow of respect. "Would you be so kind as to hold the wager? It is after all a friendly bout."

"Of course," Eddard Stark replied.

Cool grey eyes looked him over before they turned to the crimson cloaks. Behind him several of his guardsmen watched the proceedings with keen interest. Clearly the Starks and Lannisters did not like each other.

"Fine," the Lannister Master of Arms grumbled as he pulled out a pouch. Counting out a hundred of the gold coins he set it in another man's palm. The same man collected coins from four other red cloaks before handing their money to the Hand.

Cid did the same, handing over the hundred dragons to Lord Stark.

"Draw blood or force my man to yield and you win," Cid stated loudly. "He will not stop until you are incapacitated or yield."

The five red cloaks shared a glance then nodded. "Agreed," the Master of Arms replied before Lord Stark could object.

"This is going to be easy," Marach heard one of the Lannister men state. "The one who forces him to yield gets the gold."

The others around him nodded their accent.

The whale whisker was a good three feet longer than he was tall giving him greater range than even the knight swords provided his opponents. In their troop only Ralpha and Temperance could match his skill with a staff, though Ramza was always a serious threat.

"On my mark," Lord Stark's voice boomed over the camp and the gathered spectators. Their swords and shields readied, the Lannister knights grinned in anticipation while their opponent stood calmly, his staff at his side as he gave a somber nod. "Begin!"

In a flash Marach was on the Lannister men. His first blow shattered the pine shield of the Master of Arms even as it drove the man back onto one of his companions.

Startled by his speed another Lannister knight had his feet knocked out from beneath him before the staff master retreated a step. The two knights still standing waited for their companions to regain their feet, giving the youth time to rush in once again. This time he broke a knight's helm with a strategically placed thrust.

Marach spotted his friend's hidden smirk as the blond watched the bout. He'd seen Ramza use this technique hundreds of times and had even endured it in their first battle against each other. Breaking his opponent's equipment to break their spirits rather than breaking their bodies – it was something only a master knight could accomplish. Though Ramza had never been knighted he had learned their techniques and put them to good use in the War of the Lions.

With the Lannisters unprepared for such an assault they would soon discover a fraction of how much they had underestimated their opponent. Taking advantage of his reach the former assassin carefully dissected his opponents as he alternated from breaking shields, helms and swords before the Master of Arms finally relented.

"Yield," he shouted as he attempted to guard himself with his broken shield and sword. "We yield!"

* * *

Sansa

The trip south had taken a dark turn for the eldest Stark daughter following the loss of Lion's Tooth as the Queen no longer invited her to ride in her carriage house stating that Joffrey needed to the quiet so that his arm could mend properly. That meant that her Prince could not accompany her either. With only Jane Poole and Septa Mordane to keep her company she was racking her brain for something to talk about. Surprisingly it was Arya who had saved her from her boredom.

Two days after the sell sword company had attached itself to the column a late summer rain fell. Though the King's Road was still passable it was a muddy mess. Unwilling to allow his daughter to ride in the rain, her father had ordered Arya to ride in the Stark wheelhouse. Though the headstrong girl had been hesitant to obey she had agreed once the Septa and her Lord Father consented to invite four guests.

The Stark wheelhouse was small when compared to that of the Queen's, but in truth it was a modest size comfortably fitting ten, adequate room for Septa Mordane, Jane, Sansa, Arya and her four guests.

"This is Septa Mordane," Arya said as she began to introduce her guests, "Jane Poole and my sister Sansa Stark."

The quartet offered nods of acknowledgement rather than dainty handshakes or hugs that most noble women preferred.

"I am Reis Duelar," the blonde woman stated as she pulled back her hood. Though it was clear that she was the oldest of the four, she was also the most beautiful of the group. Given the King's reputation it had been a good decision for her to remain hooded while outside with the men.

"Meliadoul Tengille," was a raven haired woman who could be described as attractive, though she was more handsome then beautiful. Unlike the older woman Meliadoul was stiffer and even a bit uncomfortable in the carriage house. Of the four she held herself the most like a man.

"Ralpha Sand," an olive skinned girl added with a curt bow. Her dark eyes quickly darted about the carriage house before she finally settled into a seat beside Arya.

"Alma Snow." Like her brother Alma could easily be mistaken for a Lannister. Only her sharp blue eyes and name suggested that she was not. Few Lannisters had traveled north of the Neck of their own volition and judging from her apparent age it was unlikely that Alma had been fathered during the Grayjoy Rebellion. She looked to be the youngest of the group, perhaps only a year or two older than Sansa.

The golden haired Alma Snow quickly took to Septa Mordane as the two debated and discussed the faith, the Seven, the old gods, and other matters of religion and theology, leaving the two older women to sit across from Sansa and Jane.

At first awkward silence filled the gap between them until finally Arya convinced Ralpha to sing them a song of the Far East.

Strumming the harp, the dark girl smiled as she tuned the instrument. Though she sang the song in a tongue that Sansa did not understand the elder Stark was entranced by the melody and the singer's honeyed voice. When the song was finally over Sansa noticed a blush on Reis' face.

Again it fell to her tactless sister to notice and remark, "Why are you blushing Reis?"

For what seemed like the first time Meliadoul smiled. The gesture was mirthful, easing away the hardness that had been set there. "The song tells of a woman who was loved and adored a noble Templar."

"Templar?" Arya interjected.

"A knight of the church," Alma explained as she joined the conversation.

"She was a beautiful woman, with a rare gift to match her beauty," Melaidoul added. "Unfortunately her beauty attracted the attention of a Celibate, one of the high ranking members of the church."

Septa Mordane huffed at the notion. Though their church was not like hers, the idea that a ranking official in the church could put his own interests over that of the church clearly offended her.

"Jealous of their love, the Celibate framed the Templar in an attempt to draw her attention away from her love and to him. When that failed he tried to punish the Templar. But when she discovered his plan she tried to save him, only to fall victim to the Celibate's curse herself."

Sansa gasped, "She loved him that much?"

Her attention on the story teller she failed to notice Reis' nod. "Yes, she did."

"What was the curse?" Jane asked.

"The woman was transformed," Ralpha replied as she sought the correct words. "She was turned into a dragon."

Again Sansa gasped.

"Ooh, that would be splendid," Arya exclaimed. "Imagine being able to fly in the sky and breathing fire! It must have been exciting!"

"Fearful that her love would fear and despise her, she flew away to a distant land. But her noble love pursued her. He traveled long and far searching for her. But when he finally arrived in the land she had exiled herself in he knew that he could not reach her."

"Why?" Jane pleaded.

Ralpha's sad smile only added to her tale. "The powerful spell that had transformed her had attracted many powerful creatures. Other dragons, behemoths, hydra, specters… all manner of evil creatures were drawn to her.

"Alone, her love knew that he could not reach her. So he sought to find another noble soul. Soon he found a young man of great courage and strength. With this young man and his loyal companions at his side the Templar was able to reach his love."

"Was he able to break her curse?" Sansa asked.

The songstress shook her head. "He saved her, but he did not have the cure. But the young man he had allied himself to convinced the Templar to stay with his group. Side by side they fought, revealing a plot by some in the church to seize control of the country with the use of holy stones. Finally the hero and the Templar defeated the conspirators and the holy stones. With the power of the stones they were able to break the curse binding the beautiful heroine."

"What love they must have had for each other to endure so much," Sansa sighed.

Unsatisfied with the tale Arya eyed the blond beauty. "That doesn't explain why you blushed."

"I am named after the heroine in that story," Reis replied.

Meliadoul's smile widened. "And the Templar in the story is named Beowulf, which happens to be your husband's name."

Sansa and Jane eyed the beautiful blond.

"Just a coincidence," Alma said with a gentle smile. "Being named after someone in a famous tale and meeting someone also named in the song tends to bring people together or force them apart."

"What about the hero?" Arya asked.

"That is a story for another day," Meliadoul replied. "It is far too long for even a day's ride. In truth it might be best shared over a fortnight. Besides, Ralpha had yet to complete the song."

Sansa eyed the songstress. "It is not my song. Ken is the one composing it; he merely taught me the Templar and Dragonkin's song that is part of the hero's tale."

"Ken?" Jane asked.

"Our scribe," Alma explained. "He's usually the one leading the aurochs."

"Dragonkin?" Arya asked as she looked at Reis.

"It means one related to dragons," Ralpha explained. "Because the Reis in the story had become a dragon she could communicate with them even after returning to her human form. The Targaryens are said to be Dragonkin as well, but with the last of the dragons they brought to Westeros gone they were eventually driven out as well."

* * *

Ramza

For two days their party had traveled with the King's column. After their sparring session with the Lannister knights word of their skill had quickly spread to the other camps in the column. The Starks had been around the most, though none of them had dared test themselves against the youths. Lord Renly was the first to approach Cid about hiring the troop on. His offer had been matched by many of the other lords but only the Lannisters and Starks had not extended them an offer.

After the Lannisters men had lost their money the first night several other knights from other entourages had come for some friendlier sparring and the occasional game of daggers. Some of the older men still ribbed the youngsters especially as some of them did not drink any wine, mead, or beer.

As the only group without any horses they were often the first to wake, break camp and set off, often before the King's entourage had even woken. A hard day's walk allowed them to make up the ground they would eventually lose to the horses, though Ramza lamented the fact that they did not have chocobos as the swift beasts would have allowed them to travel thrice as far.

Yet even with a trusty chocobo the trip to King's Landing would have taken them five days. In Ivalice most cities or castles were at most two or three day's ride away, less if you pushed the chocobos, but on foot mayhap a good week. Here castles were at least a good fortnight away with several holdfasts and inns separated by a day or two of steady marching.

If it where several thousand on the march rather than a few hundred it would take even longer to traverse the distance. As a small troop of fifteen it took them little time to set up and take down a camp.

"This is a large world," Radd stated as he matched his strides to Ramza's.

He nodded, "Yes it is."

Unlike those whom he had attended the academy with him and who looked to him as their default leader because of his station, he had to earn Radd's respect. As rivals under the dark knight they had often fought, both physically and verbally. Unlike the others who had been educated in Gariland, Radd had no formal education. His keen mind and physical skills were honed on the streets and further developed under Gaffgarion's tutelage. As such he provided Ramza with an altogether different perspective. When Ramza and the others had discovered Gaffgarion's true purpose and role in Ovelia's kidnapping the other had sided with Ramza out of blind loyalty while Radd had come to his decision on his own.

"Cid and Beowulf are with Renly again," Radd stated. "He hopes to curry our favor with horses."

Ramza nodded again. Even with the rainfall masking their conversation he did not feel comfortable speaking in the Common Tongue that was used in Westeros. *I would rather we not be employed by any of these lords,* he replied in Lesalian.

*The threat of war is in the air.* On his other side the former assassin slowed his stride so that he could fall into step beside the two blonds. As someone who was used to selling his services and blade Marach seemed to know when people were looking for someone who could walk in the shadows. *If we take a contract now we may not be getting the best price for our services.*

Radd turned his head and glanced at the crimson cloaks as they rode past on the other side of the road. *Our esteemed leader believes we need to prepare ourselves for a war.*

*The best way to prepare is to have gold,* Marach replied. *We have yet to test all of our equipment or to see if there is better equipment available.*

*We know how to maintain our equipment,* Radd insisted. *From what I've seen our equipment is more than sufficient.*

*We will not be pieces to be moved and sacrificed for the want of those merely grasping for power.* Though they had spent much of the past weeks learning the common tongue of Westeros, it was refreshing being able to speak his native tongue. *We head to King's Landing. There we shall see who is truly noble and who plays at being noble.*

* * *

A/N

I don't know why, but I've been unable to do anything beyond think and work on this fic. I plan to finish this, but I also plan to finish OHTOHT as well. I'll try to wrap that fic up soon so that I can move onto another project. Maybe even flesh this fic out.

Seriously, I don't know why but I've been on a Song of Fire and Ice kick lately. I haven't actually read the books, I've just been listening to them on audiobook while working. That's why I have to wiki the character's names, so please forgive me if I misspelled anything.

As for FFT, well, I'm still playing it on my PSPVita. It is definitely a classic and ground breaking game in so many ways. I was actually debating crossing Soul Caliber with GoT/SoFaI focusing on Hilde (actually I like Ivy and Taki, but decided that they would be too over powered plus they really wouldn't have any motivation to do anything in Westeros if you take Soul Caliber/Edge out of the equation).

Maybe I'll take up my FFT/FoZ fic again once I'm finished with OHTOHT….

Dreamingfox


	2. Chapter 2

Ramza

The trip to King's Landing took his troop a fortnight of hard marching, yet somehow they had reached the royal city before the King and his entourage. Their first priority had been finding lodging, a task that had helped them discover how the monetary system in Westeros worked. The gold Dragons were the most valuable coin. The silver coins came in two denominations – stag and moon. Unfortunately the copper coins came in three denominations – star, groat, and penny. A single dragon was worth 30 moons, 210 stags, or 11760 pennies.

Kenneth had simplified things, "We're only going to deal in dragons, stags, and pennies."

With their rooms paid for Ramza split the team up. Marach and Radd were to check out the underworld, Cid, Beowulf, and Ramza would check out the blacksmiths, Ken and Wilfrid would explore the taverns and pubs, and Bert and Pauline were to look for the ingredients needed for their potions. Everyone else would secure the team's room and take stock of their remaining inventory.

He knew without even having to do the math that they were burning through their coin. Yes, they would manage, but if Radd and Marach were right they would need more and soon. If they failed to secure funds before a war broke out then they would be at a disadvantage.

Steel Street was home to all of the blacksmiths and their shops. He had counted over four dozen different signs, though a third were just stalls with open forges. This particular shop was the fourth that they had visited. In two of the others they had seen some quality daggers and short knight swords but no mail worth noting. After some haggling they had managed to purchase ten quarrels with twenty arrows each, two score of throwing knives, and a dozen knives for five dragons. They had seen a few Mythril blades, or Valyrian blades, but those had been too costly.

The other shops had been valuable in that they had revealed that few in Westeros could actually work Mythril/Valyrian steel. The dozens of Valyrian steel blades they had seen on display were but daggers, and none of them had been created by the smiths who displayed them.

They had also learned of the apprenticeship system in which a master took on an apprentice or two (for a fee), teaching them the basic skills and teaching them the knowledge needed to become a master. Not all who apprenticed became masters, though clearly there had been more than a few masters in King's Landing.

"This is quality mail," Cid stated loudly.

The stout old man behind the counter smiled broadly. "It ought to be, it's mine." With a glance he sent the slender serving girl to fetch some wine.

"I see few Valyrian blades," Beowulf countered as he eyed the weapons on display. The few smiths they had visited before had each told them that Tobho Mott was the best smith in all of King's Landing. Each of the three had apprenticed under the Master Smith.

The balding man shrugged, "Any smith can display them, but few actually know how to forge them." The look that he gave the girl suggested that she serve them the cheaper wine.

"You can forge Valyrian steel?" Cid asked dubiously.

Again Mott shrugged, "I know the enchantments and ingredients needed to forge them, but none know how to repair a broken blade. Most masters know how to use the broken blades to forge smaller blades, but that is it. Still, such blades are never as strong as the original."

The trio knew what he said was true as two of the other smiths they had previously visited had said the same. Yet those smiths had not the skill to re-forge the broken Valerian blades. "Could you forge a blade if you had the materials?"

The smith took a moment to consider this, "Perhaps. I have the tools necessary, but"

"But you need the ore," Beowulf finished.

The smith shook his head, "I need dragonfire."

The girl set three goblets on a serving tray only for Ramza to put his hand over the third one and shake his head.

It was the Templar's turn to shake his head, "You need a fire that burns as hot as dragonfire. We can show you what you need to create a fire that burns that hot."

The Templar motioned for the squire to step forward. Ramza left the serving girl so that he could approached the counter and pulled out a bundle before unwrapping its contents before the master smith. Two bars of silvery metal measuring two inches wide, two inches tall, and six inches long lay on the counter along with a two flasks of dark fluid. With a nod he signaled to the smith that he could handle them.

The bars were nearly smothered by the man's powerful hands. "I have never seen metal such as this. I thought it silver until I lifted it. What is this?"

"This is Mythril, though you know it as Valyrian steel," Ramza stated as he stepped back. "Each bar should be able to forge one knight's sword." As if to prove his point Ramza reached for his sword and unsheathed his runeblade. The weapon was hardly the strongest blade that they possessed, not as ancient as some of the others, but it was one readily produced in Ivalice.

Examining the blade the smith compared its weight to the each of the bars of refined metal. "I have seen few blades of such quality."

"With four bars you can create a suit of chainmail stronger than even your best suit here," Beowulf stated. "If you truly do know the enchantments and runes needed that is."

Again the smith considered the trio. "But I cannot forge the blades without dragonfire."

Beowulf tapped the forgotten flasks even as he leaned on the counter. "The flasks contain oils that should only be combined in a cold forge. When they are combined they will burn as hot as dragonfire and should burn for a fortnight, just long enough for you to forge two swords."

Ramza watched the smith's eyes widened in astonishment – such knowledge was far more valuable than even ten thousand dragons. It could even buy him a castle and title. There were only six noble houses with Valyrian blades – Stark, Tarly, Corbray, Drumm, Harlaw, Mormont, and Celtigar. If he could successfully forge a new blade of Valyrian steel he would be famous. But –

"You tell those who ask that you have been slowly purchasing Valyrian daggers and knives so that you could forge your masterwork," Beowulf interjected. "It's true enough, is it not?"

Grabbing the runeblade the Beowulf tossed it back to Ramza who promptly sheathed it.

"You give such a blade to your squire," Tobho remarked.

"In the east we found many such blades," Cid stated "along with the ore we used to create those bars."

"If your blades are as fine as his, then what would you have of me?"

"We need a smith to repair our armor," Beowulf stated. "Even the finest plate can rust if not properly maintained."

"You are looking for a smith to tend to your weapons and armor," Mott muttered. "Someone who is not a master but is skilled with a hammer."

Wrapping the bundle he picked it up. "I might have someone for you."

"We'll send our man tonight," Beowulf stated. "He will help you with what you are doing, and when you're done he'll return with our man."

* * *

Eddard

The long ride to King's Landing was finally over. Had he not convinced the King to allow him to ride ahead so that he could set up his new household within the Tower of the Hand he would never have reached the royal capital before the others. Only Lord Renly had ridden ahead with him bringing word of the King's return so that the masses would have time to gather and pay their respects.

He had not expected the Council to meet right away, discuss a tourney in his name, discover that the kingdom was 6 million dragons in debt, nor had he expected to have Littlefinger bring him out to a whore house to meet his wife. There were so many things to consider – the debt that Robert had incurred during his reign, that the Imp had hired an assassin to kill Bran, what he needed to do to protect his family, who he could trust, and who had killed John.

Thoughts of Jory's boast that his men were each worth ten of their counterparts from the south were quickly quashed as he recalled the "friendly" sparring match between the troop of sell swords and the Lannister knights. It was comforting to know that they hadn't joined up with the Lannister contingent traveling with the Queen from Winterfell was twice the size of his Stark contingent. They had helped Arya and thus earned the scorn of the Queen.

If the Imp had hired the assassin to kill Bran then he would likely send another since the first had failed. His trip up to the Wall would bring him back down to Winterfell. With even fewer men he might be content to wait until he returned to King's Landing or at least left the North but that would mean that his assassins would have to travel far to kill Bran.

And then there was the issue of the King's debts. Taxes were never popular, but they might be necessary so long as they taxed only the lords. Tywin had more than sufficient funds beneath Casterly Rock – hell they had loaned the Royal Treasury four million dragons. An unjust tax against the Lannisters would do nothing but make the Wardens of the East and West try to rise up against Robert.

There was only so much he could do. He would have to leave the debt to the Master of Coin. Somehow Littlefinger had managed to keep the kingdom afloat. He could at least trust the man that far. He did not trust the courtesan to help with the matter of John Arynn's murder or even of Bran's assassination.

The giant bronze gates seemed to welcome him back into the Tower of the Hand. Bone tired, he knew that there was much that he still needed to do. First he needed to arrange for a ship to head north as soon as possible. Catelynn and Sir Rodrik would be on that ship, but there would also be supplies for the Night's Watch and Winterfell.

His first official act as the Hand was marking the men in the dungeons for candidates to be sent to the Wall. He knew that the Night's Watch was sorely lacking in strength, but they were also lacking in support. As the King's Hand he was authorized to offer free transport to any who would be willing to relocate themselves to the lands under control of the Night's Watch. Any taxes that they paid were collected by the Night's Watch to help support them in their defense of the Wall.

He had also given his lady wife instructions to contact the Stark Banner men so that they might fortify their castles and increase the training regimen and patrols of their men. Rob would need to fortify Winterfell as well. He hoped that it would not come to war, yet in the pit of his stomach his fears gnawed at him.

The sound of steel on wood caught his ear, luring him away from the tower and towards the yard. A familiar figure worked in the dim dusk light, stabbing and slashing at the practice dummy with a sword in her left hand. "Whose sword is that?"

Startled, Arya missed her thrust, nearly falling over her own feet as she stumbled into the old dummy. Regaining her feet she turned to her father. "It's mine."

He'd seen her practicing with the sell swords on occasion, at least when they had traveled with the King's entourage. Holding out his hand he waited for her to hand him the hilt. "Where did you get this?" He half expected it to have been a gift from the sell sword troop, yet none of them ever used a Bravos blade. Then he spotted the smith's mark – Micken. His own smith had armed his own daughter and somehow he had not known about it.

There was much that he ought to say, that he should say. Had Catelynn been here she would have said much, yet these were dark times. A girl she might be, but was that all she would be? Holding the hilt out to her he waited for her to reclaim her blade.

"I can have it?" her voice was trembling.

He nodded. "It is your sword. But if you are going to learn to use it you will need a proper master. I know not the use of a Bravos blade, but I will find someone to instruct you."

Taking the blade from him she eyed him cautiously, clearly expecting a trick. "What do we say in Winterfell?"

The paused, still cautious, "Winter is coming."

Again Ned nodded. "Winter is coming. We all have a part to play. I would be doing you a discourtesy by not having you trained properly. But know this – this is not play. Remember what Cid said before the King – you will need to know when to draw a blade. Do not play at swords, master them. If I hear that you are playing at swords I will take your blade from you."

"I won't draw Needle until she's needed," Arya pledged.

"Needle?" he smirked even as she nodded. "Well, take Needle back to your room. It is late and I expect that dinner will be ready soon."

* * *

Marach

The sound of steel shod hooves against packed earth blended with the sound of steel clashing with steel. The practice yard was full of activity as the young sell swords sought to perfect their craft. Their stay in the inn had lasted less a few days before young Kenneth had realized that it would be cheaper for them to buy a tent and pitch it on the common grounds along with the other unbound knights who were gathering in King's Landing for the Hand's Tourney.

They had elected to take up the name "Stormriders" as the name of their troupe and some had added storm behind their individual names to differentiate themselves from the other bastards. Thus their illustrious leader was now Ramza Snowstorm, just as he was now Marach Sandstorm. Temperance, Pauline, Kenneth, and Wilfrid were now Stormwaters. Bert and Rose, the twins, who had been taken Storm as their surnames had adopted the adaptation 'Dark' so that they were now Bert Darkstorm and Rose Darkstorm. Their banner was a blue-grey flag with a black cloud, white gold lightning and either a snowflake, raindrop or hailstone to represent each of the members of the troupe.

Once they had figured that they could enter five warriors into the melee Marach already knew that Cid, Ramza, Radd, Temperance, and Meliadoul would represent them, while Ramza and Temperance were entered into the Joust, and Pauline in the Archery contest. The purse for the winner of the Joust was 40,000 dragons with second receiving 20,000. In contrast the Melee would receive only 20,000 with no second place, and the Archery winner to receive 10,000 dragons. Winning any would be more than sufficient to last the troupe a good while considering that they now had to pay wages to their smith and cook/stable boy. The temporary work that the others had picked up assisting the City Guard with the swelling number of lords, knights, squires, merchants, bards, and other travelers brought in just enough coin for the troupe to maintain their current expenses.

The boy Gendry was skilled with a hammer and had learned quickly how best to maintain their weapons despite being awed by the Valyrian steel that the troupe employed. Mycah on the other hand was having a hard time keeping up with his duties as the cook and stable boy. As none of the troupe had actual experience tending a horse they were forced to rely on what the stable boys had taught and showed them.

Marach was actually glad to not have been chosen to be part of the tourney. He'd ridden chocobos enough to know that he did not like riding them into battle, and horses were worse than chocobos. They lacked the intelligence and offensive or defensive capabilities that the giant magical fowl possessed, and they stank. Chocobos would preen each other with their beaks but horses needed to be washed, brushed, and groomed by a stable hand.

Besides, his duties kept him busy. Using the same magical skills that he'd employed while hunting and tracking Ramza, Marach had quickly learned to spot the magical trail and network that someone else had established. Using his frogs he'd managed to ensure that the common grounds were free of the magical spiders, allowing him to release his hornets to take out the spiders in the harder to reach nooks and crannies of King's Landing.

No, despite his skill with a staff, Marach's skill was in intrigue and shadow craft. As a warrior he was fairly capable, but within the troupe he was just in the top half. Everyone knew that Ramza was their best fighter though Cid was the most accomplished. The former Beoulve bastard had proven that one could be a jack of all trades and still be a master at some of them. His swordplay was second only to Cid, and even though he lacked the spark needed to become a Holy Swordsman but he did possess the darkness needed to become a Fell Knight. Even without those skills Ramza had been a terror on the battlefield as Marach and Meliadoul could attest. And yet Ramza insisted that he was nothing more than a squire.

And he was just an assassin. Marach smirked as he twisted the lid off of the jar. It was because of the domesticated queen that his network centered. Unlike plain bees and wasps these magical insects harvested memories. The worker's sting allowed it to absorb recent memories from its prey while their victims were none the wiser. There was no memory loss nor was there any pain involved. A warrior's sting allowed it to take over a smaller creature such as a frog, rat or bird in defense of the hive though Marach could also the possessed creature to deliver a message.

His concern at the present was filtering through all of the information that his newly established network had gathered. He needed to tag each of the Council members, the lords and ladies, and their stewards and work their way down from there to see who was in the business of trading secrets. The problem was that the population in King's Landing was vastly larger than anything he had ever had to deal with.

He waited until the queen had her fill of the magical honey before allowing her to crawl onto his finger. Gently he set her on his forehead. He had long ago become accustomed to the feel of her sting, but the rush of thousands of memories was overwhelming. The sheer number of people in King's Landing was becoming a problem once again. Even with the wasps bred to crave those with the most intrigue and secrets, but in King's Landing that appeared to be almost everyone. This was going to take some time.

* * *

Catelynn

The trip to White Harbor had been uneventful as the Lady of Winterfell had been forced to keep her identity hidden. Adorned in heavy scarves to protect against the autumn winds she had rarely spoken to any of the crew or the handful of passengers who had taken up Eddard's offer. Only a rancher with his two score of aurochs, one score of sheep, and his family of three were to head to the Gift.

Even her visit to Sir Wylis Manderly had to be done in secret less word of her trip to King's Landing spread to unfriendly ears. It did not help that the Spider had discovered her in King's Landing. There was something about the sly eunuch that she did not trust.

It was unnatural how he had known about the assassination attempt on Bran, and how he had known that she was in King's Landing. There was no way she would trust him, even with Petyr's assurances. Varys undoubtedly knew that she'd come to White Harbor and was even meeting with Sir Wylis. And who knew what secrets he shared and with who.

For a fortnight she kept thinking back to her meeting with Ned, Varys, and Petyr. He'd told her about the incident on the Trident and about the sell swords who had intervened on Arya's behalf. Something about them had interested Varys as well, though the eunuch had refrained from specifically asking about them.

Though young, they sounded like they were good with their swords. And Winterfell would need some good swords. True, the North was as large as the other six kingdoms, but they had far fewer swords.

It was one thing for a rancher to move to the Gift, but Ned was wary of hiring on swords. His banner men had hundreds of years of history with the Starks, but her Lord Husband was loathed to hire sell swords. His men were loyal to him and he in turn was loyal to them. Sell swords were loyal only to their coin.

Yet something about those sell swords had caught Ned and Varys' eye as well, but what?

* * *

Tyroin

The warm late summer rains had accompanied the youngest of Tywin's children as he returned to King's Landing via Kingsroad making him glad to have a nice warm bath to wash away the mud of the road. With the legions travelers in the capital to see or even participate in the Hand's Tourney he knew better than to seek comforts in a whore house. Lannister gold could procure him many luxuries, yet he was not willing to pay the inflated prices that they were surely charging in this market.

Speaking with the King about the Night's Watch and their many needs he helped Yoren secure a ship full of supplies and a promise from the King that allowed him to take on any of the men he could find in the dungeons for the Watch. Word of Lord Stark's offer had spread to many herdsmen and lesser merchants, a few of who were willing to be relocated to the Gift at the Hand's expense.

Leaving the Black Brother to find men in the dungeon the Imp decided to see the infamous sell swords that had so humbled the Lannister knights on the ride down from the Trident. Sell swords and free riders were nothing new, though it was said that those few who took up the blade at such a young age who did not flock some lord's banner often became brigands and bandits. The few tidbits of information that his sister's men had provided him were that this group of youths had traveled to Essos where they had encountered dragons.

He wasn't sure what to make of the claim, especially after hearing that the group had earned his sister's scorn by besmirching Joffrey's name and siding with the younger Stark daughter in the incident at the Trident. It did not help that one of their number also defeated the Lannister's Master of Arms and four of their knights at once.

Yes, there appeared to be bad blood between them and the Lannisters, all of it on the Lannister's side

After some making some inquires it was clear that the troupe either cared little for money or they had no idea that they could have paid far less for what they received. A single dragon would have paid for twenty knights stay at even the best inn for a month, yet they had paid that much for just a week. The King's pavilion might cost ten dragons, but that was only because it came with so many amenities. The Stormriders had paid just as much as the King.

There was something about these sell swords that hadn't added up. They claimed to have come from Essos, yet they referred to it as Easteros, and they had traveled east along the Red Fork for nearly two months before encountering the King's entourage. Had they sailed with the Ironmen and come east along the riverlands? It seemed unlikely.

Then there was the fact that the troupe of 16 had captured over a hundred bandits in under two months. What was unbelievable was that they had done so in a single swoop, falling on the bandits' camp and capturing all of them without killing a single bandit or losing a single member of their troupe. The reward they had collected was not so much on the bandits, but on the treasure that the bandits had stolen in their time terrorizing the Riverlands.

Cersei would not appreciate that he had made arrangements to meet with the leaders of the Stormriders. Not only would it provide him with an opportunity to get a good measure of them, but it would also provide him with a starting point in his investigation of them.

* * *

Reis

Westeros hummed with unused magical power. It was no surprise to her that the land seemed to thrive and that the seasons and weather itself were, well, unnatural. As a Dragonkin she could feel the flow of mana as she walked and it was almost as suffocating as the stench in King's Landing. The closer the troupe came to the capital the harder it became for her and the others to use magic. Something was inhibiting their ability to mold mana properly so that their spells became unpredictable. Fire spells became Fira or even Flare, though it was also able to go the other way lessening the effect of the spells that they dared to attempt.

Their trip down the King's Road past the various holdfasts and farms suggested to her that some magi had long ago enchanted the fields. Those enchantments still worked, but they also fluctuated in their efficiency. It seemed that the closer they came to King's Landing the harder it was to properly invoke magic. Whatever it was that was hampering the flow of magic into humans had begun hundreds, perhaps thousands of years ago to the point that few people could use magic because most had given up on trying to learn to use magic.

And yet there was something powerful in the capital that called out to her.

She'd read the history of Westeros and their history with dragons and knew that the skulls of the Targaryen dragons were kept in the Red Keep. Though they had died out over a hundred and fifty years ago she knew that they had not died because of inbreeding nor had they been hunted into near extinction – but what was the cause of their demise? Could the thing that was hampering the flow of magic have played a role in their demise?

As she walked along the walls of the Tower of the Hand she felt the power in the air. Could the skulls of her dead kin hold the answers to her questions?

* * *

Eddard

The strain of his position was slowly wearing him away. The stiffness in his shoulders and neck were slowly creeping up his spine but soon his head would ache as he continued to argue with the small council.

It was a mixed blessing that the most important matters that were discussed today had to do with the Hand's Tourney. As little as he enjoyed such a needless event he knew that Robert would not call off the tourney. It was a major concession for him to have the entrants in the melee and joust pay an entry fee. With those minor funds the king would be able to host a banquet each night of the tourney and payback some of the money that the crown had loaned to pay for the event. Still, the number of entrants was impressive, though the purse was the largest offered ever. The sheer number of entrants would ensure that the tourney lasted at least two days, though it looked like it might go three.

With the meeting over John headed out of the hall. Behind him Jory and Alan fell into step behind him, matching his strides as he led them out of the castle. In a matter of minutes he was mounted and making his way down Steel Street.

With the Grand Maester and Littlefinger's assistance he was able to retrace his predecessor's last steps even if he had not been able to find the remnants of his household. Tobho Mott was a master smith, but Jon Arryn needed no smith as his household already had a master smith.

"This is it," Jory stated as they reached the smithy.

The trio dismounted and Heward remained with the horses as Jory accompanied him inside the shop.

It was surprising to see the shop empty of any customers given the smith's reputation and the fact that virtually all of the smiths in King's Landing were busy selling their wares or working on the armor and weapons that the hundreds of knights that were drawn to the city for the coming tourney.

The slim young serving girl took quick note of his badge and rushed to find the master. He appeared suddenly all smiles.

"Wine for the King's Hand," he ordered the girl. The aged master smith was a muscular man though not as powerfully built as most. The red hue of his skin suggested that he had been working a hot forge recently. "I am Tobho Mott, my lord. Please, please, put yourself at ease."

He wore a simple black velvet coat with white hammers embroidered along the sleeve. "If you are in need of new arms for the tourney you have come to the right place. My work is costly but I make no apologies for that my lord. You will not find craftsmanship equal to mine anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms."

With a gesture Tobho led him to a couch as the serving girl poured them wine. "Any village smith can pound out a suit of armor, but my work is art."

He listened as the man went on about his skills and accomplishments, which lords he serviced and with what. "Did you make a falcon helm for Lord Arryn?"

Mott paused as he drank from his goblet of wine. "The Hand had visited me, with Lord Stannis – but I regret to say that they did not honor me with their patronage."

It was Ned's turn to sip from his goblet, allowing the man to fill the void.

"They asked to see the boy, so I took them back to the forge."

"The boy?" Ned echoed. He had not notion who the boy might be. "I would like to see the boy as well."

"He is no longer with me," Tobho sighed. "He is now signed on with a group of sell sword as their personal smith."

Sipping from his wine again Ned eyed the man.

"He stops by occasionally with one of the men in the troupe when they need a forge, or when he's free of his duties to learn more of working the forge," Mott stated.

Had Lord Arryn looked to add another smith to his household? "What troupe?"

"The Stormriders," the smith answered reluctantly.

He was hiding something, but what? Ned had heard of the Stormriders, though when he had known them they had yet to take a name for their troupe.

He had been careful to set his men about to make sure that no one followed but he also knew that the Spider would know where he went regardless. His business with the master smith concluded, he hoped that he would have the chance to speak with Cid and Beowulf about their new smith.

* * *

Ramza

The sound of steel on steel filled the commons though a few cheers managed to fill the gaps as the spectators shouted their support for the combatants. The taller of the two donned a black minotaur headed helm, making the squire almost believe that the smith truly was one of those powerful creatures. Only the heavy warhammer and shield, and the lack of cloven feet signaled that he wasn't. Minotaurs never used weapons as their brute power was often able to overpower any enemy. Even behemoths and dragons did not take minotaurs lightly.

Yet for all of Gendry's power he failed to land a telling blow against the significantly smaller Wilfrid. The mousy scribe needed extra padding just to wear the plate mail armor yet he danced around the larger boy.

The pair had been sparring for ten minutes with the scribe getting the better of the smith. Of those who had attended the academy with Ramza the scribe was the weakest physically. Mentally he was leaps and bounds beyond everyone else save for perhaps Kenneth. His keen mind and faith made him more suited to the mystical arts, an aspect of the troupe that they hoped to keep hidden from anyone not belonging to the troupe. Even Gendry and Mycah had not been shown that side of the group.

"Aim your blows," Radd instructed the smith. "Consider where you want to hit as well as where your target is going to be when your blow connects. This isn't a forge – your opponent is going to move because they don't want to be hit."

From his vantage point Ramza could see the various spectators – most of them knights and squires who were curious about the sell swords who had traveled Easteros. Yet from what Marach had told him more than a few were spying on them.

"Let them focus on our swords," he'd told the assassin. "They are less likely to notice our shadows then."

That the others had agreed seemed to ease his mind. Had he been honest with the others he would have told them that he was content to simply ride around the lands, escorting herdsmen and travelers to keep them safe while scouring the lands of brigands. King Robert had left a sour taste in Ramza's mouth. More often than not the man had been drunk, and his debauchery seemed to know no bounds. During the evenings on their trip down from the Trident the King was often busy with the harlots and whores, flaunting his infidelity before his Queen and her brother.

Yet the Queen was no better. She had insisted that Arya be punished for her direwolf's actions. She believed that her station made her untouchable and that her decisions were right simply because she was the queen.

Regardless of his feelings or impressions of them, he doubted that he would have to deal with either of them for too long. They would stay for the tourney, hopefully winning at least one purse so that they could pay for their supplies and perhaps move to the north. Even without Reis' magical connection he could tell that the closer they came to King's Landing the harder it was for them to use magic. With Marach and Radd checking for the underworld connections, Ken and Wilfrid checking the history of this land, and Beowulf and Cid checking the lords of the court the troupe was stretched thin.

For now they would focus on their immediate problems on hand. Once those were dealt with they would see what their options were.

* * *

A/N

I'll leave things there for now.

I hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading and please review.

Dreamingfox


	3. Chapter 3

Eddard

The grandeur of the Hand's Tourney failed to impress him. Over a hundred banners lined the stands and stables yet all he saw was the estimated cost to build the stands and the entry fees paid by the participants. Even with a fee of five dragons per entrant had not dissuaded the hopeful knights and free riders. Then again the purse for the victors was handsome beyond anything offered by anyone save the Lannisters.

As the honoree of the tourney the King and the small council had urged him to be present for the start and end of the Tourney as well as for the entirety of the Melee. Only the entrants in the archery contest did not pay a fee, meaning that the number of participants had swelled to over three hundred.

As the honoree he had managed to secure seats for himself, Sansa, Jeyne Poole, and Septa Mordane beside the King's pavilion. The other members of the small council were seated around them, close enough that they could speak easily despite the idle chatter of the stands drowning them out.

For the first time in nearly a month the crown princes and princess made an appearance. Only the King, Queen, and their attendants had seen them since the incident on the Trident. Despite the warmth of the late summer day Joffrey wore long silken sleeves to hide his injury. Still, his appearance had brought a smile to Sansa's face.

"I see that the Hound has entered," his daughter had dared to say after giving her greetings to the royal family.

"Of course he would," Joffrey replied as he turned his focus to her. "He won my name day tourney."

"Do you suppose he will win today?"

The boy was all smiles as the pair spoke of the last tourney and of the skill of his personal body guard. "He will win today, but with this many participants the winner will be determined on the morrow."

"Even with this many participants the winner will most likely be someone who has won a tourney in the last year." Eddard eyed the Imp as the deformed man claimed a seat near the edge of the royal pavilion. It came as a slight surprise that he had managed to convince Yoren to attend the tourney.

As a Black Brother he was supposed to be busy readying the ship that was bound for White Harbor. Nearly two hundred men, most of them bandits captured by the sell sword troupe known as the Stormriders, had agreed to take the black in exchange for a pardon for their crimes. Another two score had also signed up after accepting the bribe that the Imp had offered. In truth he had found families that were willing to sell their sons for two dragons apiece. The boys had been told that they would be able to serve their families and the kingdom by going to the Wall and joining the Night's Watch. It was true, but Ned could not feel a bit disgusted by the betrayal. Still, he knew that the Watch needed any willing and able men, and those boys had been willing.

But the Imp's generousity had not ended there. Somehow he had managed to secure a second ship, this one full of supplies, ranchers and their herds and families willing to relocate to the Gift. All would help the Night's Watch.

"I am surprised to see you here Yoren," Ned stated as he offered his hand to the Black Brother.

"I was reluctant to come myself," the withered man replied as he accepted the proffered hand. "But Master Tyrion convinced me to at least see the skill of some of the men involved in capturing those bandits in the Riverlands. The Summer Breeze and Wind Witch will finish loading tomorrow so we can leave on tomorrow's evening tide I suppose I might be able to indulge in the tourney."

It was small repayment for Tyrion's generosity since he was the one who arranged for much of the supplies.

"I believe that the sell swords responsible have created a banner for themselves," Tyrion stated as the first of the two participants joined the procession parading around the lists and into the stables. "The Stormriders – blue-gray banners with black storm clouds and a snowflake, raindrop, or hailstone to represent the troupe's members."

It took nearly an hour for all the entrants to parade before the crowds as the stands began to fill up. Some of the spectators had woken at dawn to line the street leading to the Lion's Gate and the tourney yard just to see the knights. Extra stands had to be constructed to accommodate the spectators while a second stable had to be constructed for the contestants. Many if not all of the knights and their regiments had staked pavilions and tents outside of the tourney grounds rather than milling about in the commons so that they could be closer to the tourney.

With well over a hundred participants the first few rounds would go on into the afternoon. Rather than sitting in their armor all morning most victors would return to their pavilions or tents to await their next tilt. Most of the participants had returned to their tents immediately following the parade, those that stayed on the tourney grounds and stables were those expected to ride soon.

Beyond the tourney grounds several thousand stalls had been set up to accommodate the spectators. Some grilled meats and offered beer, but a few offered honeyed meads or wines from every part of the Seven Kingdoms.

Both of the Stormriders had opted to stay in the stables following their part in the parade. It was not much of a surprise considering that the more seasoned riders and past winners had been allowed given a bye in the opening round or were matched with inexperienced opponents due to the sheer number of contestants and odd number of contestants.

"Ten dragons on Sir Maine," the imp offered Littlefinger as a Lannister knight rode up to the list. Opposite him came Ramza Snowstorm.

Though it was a bout between an unknown free rider and an experienced and reputable red cloak, Littlefinger and Lord Varys appeared to be keenly interested in the bout as both edged forward in their seats.

"If I recall correctly Sir Maine won his first bout and was unseated in his second during Joffrey's name day tourney," the sly Master of Coin said as he rubbed his well-trimmed short beard.

"I'll take your bet." The taker was Lord Manning, one of the many noble houses from the Crownlands that had come to King's Landing just for the tourney.

Sir Maine rode swift while the Stormrider rode steadily. The red cloak's lance touched the other's shield even as the other rider endured the attack. Just as the lance shattered the Stormrider twisted in his seat and drove his lance into the overextended knight's chest, the red cloak off of his mount.

"I shall enjoy spending your gold," smirked Lord Manning.

Ned noted how Joffrey slunk back into his seat, unhappy with the result of tilt.

The Imp sighed dramatically as he parted with the coin even as Lord Varys and Lord Baelish eased themselves back into their seats.

"The boy's slow," Yoren assessed. "He's strong but if that had been a real lance he'd have lost."

Robert nodded in agreement. "He's strong for such a young lad."

As soon as Sir Maine regained his feet the next set of riders were ready.

Between listening to the lords around him taking bets, Joffrey going on about how he would have ridden the tilt to best the last winner, and Robert jesting about the knights that he knew or japing at their emblems or telling humorous tales of encounters that he had had with them. The only tilts that interested him were when his men rode. Jory, Heward, and Harwin each won on their first tilts.

It was not until the second Stormrider reached the list that he again took note of the lords around him again. Littlefinger and the Imp placed their usual bet for fifty gold dragons. Varys sat back in his seat, casually interested in the bout. Temperance Stormwaters deftly unseated Petyr Frey by striking her opponent squarely on the right shoulder even as his lance shattered against her shield.

"Sloppy," Robert sighed.

"A win is a win," Littlefinger stated as he lightened the Imp's purse.

Little else happened the rest of the morning. Jory, Harwin, and Heward won their second bouts but only Jory won his third bout. Still, it was a good showing considering that they had never participated in a tourney before today.

More impressive were the Stormriders who unseated Sir Mandon Moore and Sir Arys Oakheart. That they both bested a member of the Kingsguard said much of their ability as no one had been impressed by their first tilts. By the time they prepared for their third bouts the crowds had begun to cheer them on. Again they unseated their opponents, Sir Lorch and Sir Dunn.

But it was Gregor Clegane who most remembered as the Mountain that Rides unseated a hedge knight on his first tilt. In his second bout he struck his opponent so hard that his tourney lance pierced the knight's mail between the breastplate and armlet, puncturing his chest even as it unhorsed him.

Ned knew that Sir Hugh of the Vale had died before he'd even hit the ground as the Mountain's lance pierced Hugh's gorget. He knew it for what it was – an attempt to silence his predecessor's squire who had been anointed less than a month ago. The real questions were who ordered his death and if they knew that he had hoped to speak to Sir Hugh or if they were just afraid that Hugh might know too much?

Absently he heard Jeyne crying. The girl was not alone as several young nobles were dismayed at the sudden and hopefully unexpected death. Even Robert was perturbed, silently nodding at him when he had asked to be excused to tend to the fallen knight. Sansa appeared to be in the capable hands of her betrothed, and paid him no mind as he stood up.

X

Ramza

*I thought these were supposed to be tourney lances.* The blond eyed the light finish on the wooden lance. The stain on the shaft was dark to mimic the finish of a war lance, but the wood beneath was fire-hardened maple it was nearly indistinguishable from a lance made of pine. *Where did you get these?*

*I didn't,* the dragoon replied. *Rose slipped in and swiped them from the red cloaks. The one known as The Mountain and the two white cloaks had some as well.*

Ramza scowled, *I thought they took a bit more to break than the others.*

*Rose came with a message from Marach, though it appears that it came a bit late.*

The ninjas often worked with Marach and Ralpha, but Bert's current position within the City Guard kept him busy leaving Rose to deliver their messages in secret.

The squire eyed Temperance. *She only took three lances and will replace them once we leave. The Mountain still has six of these.*

*They mean to kill us.*

The handsome young woman nodded. Of all of those who had attended the academy with him only Temperance had achieved the rank of master dragoon along with him. *We are here less than three months and you already have people trying to kill us.*

*What did this knight of the Vale do to warrant killing?* As master knights and dragoons both of them knew that the blow that had killed the knight had been intentional. The strike had hit the knight right where his armor exposed his gorget and not just on his breastplate or shield.

Yet was this something he needed to look into? Marach was already stretched thin setting up his network of informants, could he inquire into this? *Tell the others to stay on their guard. No one goes out alone. No one handles our things but us. Have everyone check their mail again.* Turning to Temperance he nodded. Leaving the tent he sensed the other presence vanish along with the lances she had brought for inspection.

Over the course of the day there had been over a hundred bouts for some seven score tilts. Sir Hugh of the Vale had been the only casualty and thus far there had been only minor injuries.

Unlike the other participants, Ramza and Temperance remained in the stable much of the day, taking turns tending to their mounts' needs and watching the other tilts. His young mare nipped at him playfully as he approached her. Of all of them he bonded to his horse the quickest and best. She was not a fast mount, but she was strong and had great endurance. Grey with white and black patches he had named her Storm.

"Why are you doing squire work?"

Ramza and Temperance turned to the massive man. He was large and powerful with dark blond locks that tried to hide the burn marks on the right side of his face. The armored man was two heads taller than Temperance, the tallest of the Stormriders, and was perhaps as large around as the two of them combined. Though he did not wear a red cloak Ramza knew him to be one of the Lannister's men.

"It is honest work and there is little else to do," Temperance responded finally as she continued to stroke her mare's neck.

"True it might be, yet it is still squire's work."

"We are not knights," Ramza replied as he cleaned Storm's hooves. "We have never been anointed or spoken the vows."

The Hound's chuckle was gruff but sincere. "I guess that's one thing we have in common. Still, vows will not make your sword arm stronger or your armor more durable."

Ramza shrugged in response.

Behind him Temperance placed her saddle on the light golden mare she'd named Lightning. "Are all those who ride today knights?"

The Hound spit then shook his head.

"And you, a man who did not take the knightly vows won the Prince's Name Day Tourney," she added. "Clearly it means that the vows are not necessary for one to win a tourney or to serve the Crown."

A half smile twisted the man's scarred face.

"She has spirit," another voice chimed in. "I see why you have earned your place in the Stormriders."

A pair of armored men stood by the door to the stable, eying Temperance. Both were plane in appearance with mousy brown hair, dark brown beards, and brown eyes.

"I think her place in the Stormriders is on her back," the second man japed as he elbowed his companion. "I'm sure we could use a companion like that."

"You are Chiggen, are you not?" the even tempered dragoon asked.

The man nodded. Behind him his squire led a horse to the door to the stable.

"Then we shall see how much you like it on your back once we've had our tilt."

Chiggen laughed. "Do you here that Bronn? The girl thinks she can handle a lance better than me!"

"I don't think that at all," Temperance shot back. "I know it!"

Ramza knew that Temperance had the skills to back up her talk. She was the finest dragoon he'd ever fought with or beside. Unfortunately in Westeros few took a woman in armor seriously. The edge in their voices as they japed and jested had an unfamiliar tension and edge that the youths had not experienced before in Ivalice.

"I may not have been born with a sword between my legs but at least I know that those who talk the most about being able to use a weapon do so because they can't use the one between their legs."

Bronn and the Hound both laughed at Chiggen's expense.

"Once you've lost you will have more than enough time to handle your sword."

Even the squires and stable boys could not help but chuckle at Temperance's japes.

"You'd best hope your sword is as sharp as your tongue girl," Chiggen growled ruefully before allowing his squire to aid him onto his mount.

No one said anything else as the two exited the stable before heading to their respective places on the ends of the list.

The roar of the crowd drowned out the clash of wood against shield and armor, and even the sound of an armored figure crashing down onto the packed earth.

The result was no surprise to the rogue squire. In a matter of seconds Temperance was returning to the stable, dismounting before the door and leading her mount inside and back to her stall.

Temperance brushed down Lightning, soothing the mare while the other free riders waited for their bouts. Bronn was first, losing to Sir Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, while the Hound one his bout against Sir Marcus Yelshire from the Reach.

Ten more bouts were completed before Ramza placed his saddle on Storm and another five before he led her out of the stables. When it was finally time for his fourth bout he found himself across from Sir Tytos Frey. The two blue towers over a silver-grey background adorned the knight's shield matching his black storm cloud on blue-grey. As quick as it began the tilt was over as the two charged each other, lances and shields held firmly. Both connected with solid blows but it was Ramza who reached the end of the list as he unseated the Frey.

Together with Temperance they waited for the remaining bouts of the round to be completed, but by that time the sun had set to the west. They waited as the spectators exited the stands, some heading back to the city, though most were headed one of the multitude of inns and bars. Only the nobles, their attendants, and the remaining participants in the tourney went to the King's pavilion for the feast.

X

Arya

Never would she have imagined that her first dinner with her father since arriving in King's Landing would occur nearly two months after their arrival. Nor would she have thought that it would be the King's banquet during the Hand's Tourney.

As the daughters of the honoree of the tournament she and Sansa had been given seats at the King's table along with the remaining participants of the tourney. She was glad that she was not sitting near her sister as she did not wish to be near Joffrey. Though she had not seen the clown of a prince since the king had reprimanded him Arya knew that neither of them had forgotten what had happened. Just being within a few paces of him though made her feel a bit tense. Joffrey himself was not at ease as he fumbled with his cup, though perhaps it was the wound Nymeria had given him that bothered him.

Beside him was his ever faithful dog, the scarred Hound. The huge man wore a blue silk tunic and black leather vest. His figure was less imposing due to the lack of armor and arms, but it was his stern soberness and scars that kept those around from talking to him. Aside from Joffrey and Sansa's quiet conversations and the occasional jest by the Imp little was said at this end of the table.

"You don't talk much, do you?" She wasn't sure why she said it, but the observation was accurate. The Hound simply sat in silence, unwilling to say anything as his handler eyed her.

"He doesn't need to day anything," the Imp replied, his twisted smile and mismatched eyes gleaming wickedly.

"I wasn't talking about the Hound," Arya stated. The others followed her eyes to the blond youth seated across from the massive figure. His gentle face was unmarred and his striking blue eyes seemed to take everything in.

"What is there for him to say?" his guest replied on his behalf. The girl was perhaps as old as Sansa. Her golden blond locks gave most the impression that she was a Lannister, but her bright blue eyes quickly dissuaded any of that notion.

Glancing from one Snowstorm to the other Arya considered Alma's response. It was true that none had spoken to him or to the other Stormrider, but the other knights save the Hound were quick to boast about their deeds even though most had never actually fought anyone outside of a tourney. "I suppose it's true that no one's talked to you yet…"

"Is it true that you've fought a dragon?" Beside the Imp his brother stirred, glancing at the pair of Stormriders and their guests.

"I have fought many dragons," Ramza admitted, "as has Temperance and the others in our troupe."

The auburn haired warrior nodded in agreement.

"And have you slain any?" the Imp asked, his curiosity perked.

"More than I care to count."

"Really?" Mismatched eyes focused on clear blue ones trying to discern if the youth was telling the truth or not. "What were they like?"

"Fierce," Temperance answered as she carefully cut into an onion, "savage, noble, cunning."

"Weren't you afraid?" Sansa asked as she found herself drawn into the conversation.

Temperance shrugged, "Of course we were, the first few times, but it was unavoidable."

"And how best do you fight a dragon?" Tyrion asked as he leaned forward in his seat; all the better to hear the conversation.

"Have someone distract it so that you can attack it from its blind spot," Cid replied as though the answer were obvious.

"And what is its blind spot?" the tiny man inquired.

"Well, obviously not the front," Temperance teased. "Their tails are just as dangerous as their claws, and a blow from their wings can crack a man's skill as easily as you crack open an egg. That leaves you with attacking them from above."

"Above?" Clearly skeptical of the tactic, Joffrey eyed the dragoon. "Are you luring it into a pit or into a castle that you can easily jump upon a dragon's back? Or are the dragons so tiny that any fool could leap upon it?" To emphasize the absurdity of the ploy the prince laughed.

"She speaks true," Ramza stated. "Those who train to fight dragons in such a manner are called 'Dragoon' in homage of the beasts that they are trained to fight.

"The smallest dragon that we slew was seven paces long from nose to horned tail; its wings spanned fifteen paces when spread wide."

"I remember that one," Temperance interjected. "The young green. Pauline took it in the eye with an arrow but you finished it with a crushing blow to its throat as it charged you."

"And the largest?" Tyrion asked hungrily.

"The tiamat," Temperance replied as she poured herself some chilled milk. "Each skull was large enough to swallow an auroch whole with room to spare. They didn't breath fire either, though fire would have been a blessing."

"A dragon that doesn't breath fire?" Again it was Tyrion, ever curious.

"Some dragons breath ice," Ramza replied as he poured himself some chilled milk. "Some poison gas, most breath fire, but the ancient taimats breath lightning. It is deadly enough from one head, but if all three attack and hit, well, I've seen them kill a blue dragon in an instant."

"It must be thrilling to fight dragons," Jaime Lannister stated with a yawn. "But if you've slain dragons why bother fighting men?"

"One would ask you the same," Ramza replied. "Why compete against men when you have already slain a king?" The jape silenced those around them as the two blond men eyed each other – clear blue locking with emerald green. "We did not go out seeking to fight dragons or tiamats, but it was necessary for us to fight them as they stood between us and our objective.

"Dragons are neither good nor evil unlike men. Yes, they are smart and cunning; capable of being loyal and even seeking revenge, but they are not motivated by notions of power, greed, or ambition. They have no concept of honor or duty.

"If you ever encounter a dragon in the wild I would advise you to back away slowly. If they are hungry you had best try to convince it that making a meal out of you is not in its best interest. But if the dragon is guarding something that you desire or standing between you and something you had best consider if that something is worth the lives of everyone that is with you."

For a moment everyone could hear the jesters in the distance as no one dared to talk. Emerald green eyes continued to stare into clear blue ones as Ramza and Jaime held their gaze. Even as he drank from his goblet Ramza refused to break away.

"What was so important that you had to fight the tiamats?" Joffrey asked as he poured some wine for himself and Sansa.

"We fought them because it was the right thing for us to do." Temperance's cool grey eyes said that they were no longer willing to speak of that subject.

"What else have you fought?" Arya asked quickly. "Are there direwolves in Essos? What about snarks and grumpkins?"

"There are many creatures in Essos," the dragoon replied. "If Wilfrid were here he'd even show you his drawings of them."

X

Marach

The din of jubilant festivities filled King's Landing, making it all the harder for the Stormriders' resident master spy to delve too far into the shadows as drunken louts, lusty wenches, and nimble thieves took advantage of every dark nook. In the time that the troupe had been in the capital city Marach had been able to unearth several hundred secret tunnels and passages, even marking a few of the primary users. Yet for all that he had achieved there was so much more that needed to be done.

"No you need a drink?"

The spy turned to the mercenary, curious. Of the entire troupe only Cid, Radd, Marach and Ralpha drank. The rest had adopted Ramza's habit of avoiding alcoholic drinks as the former noble believed in enjoying life without the use of mind altering additives. Honey and mint were as far as their intrepid leader was willing to take things as he did not even drink tea. Yet even without the aids he was able to speak to monsters easily, something that even Marach needed help achieving.

"Wilfrid just finished a batch of berry mead that they call Dragon's Breath," Radd added as he poured some into a horn. "Just remember to light and extinguish it once the mead turns red before you drink it or you might end up waking up wishing your queen had stung you."

The mercenary handed him the horn before fishing out another horn and pouring himself a measure. Once it was filled he capped the skin and set it aside.

He watched as Radd lit a match then put it to the horns. A blue-green flame licked the surface of the black liquid. Suddenly the dark liquid lightened to a dark crimson.

"Just a bit more," Radd said with a satisfied smile. The color shifted again to a bright red. "Now!"

They both blew out the flames in their respective drinks then put the horns to their lips. Thick and sweet, it was surprisingly smooth with no hint of alcohol. As he drained the horn he realized that the aches in his body were gone, or at least numbed.

Radd smirked. "Wilfrid figured out what was blocking our magic."

"Fire." The spark of magic actually needed to be ignited in this world. It was a profound discovery.

"And lightning and ice," the other added. "Fire is easiest to add, but up north there is plenty of ice. Lightning will be harder.

"Still, Wilfrid thinks he can adjust the potions so that they can use the natural ingredients found in this world, but he's going to need to go north again."

Marach nodded. There was still so much to this world that they did not know. "I think I know who wants us dead, or at least reprimanded."

"The Queen?"

Marach eyed his friend.

"Not all secrets are obscured by shadows," Radd stated. "It was pretty obvious that she was not happy with Cid and Ramza's interference at the Trident. She strikes me as the type to easily take offense and holds a grudge, especially against anyone she thinks is under her."

The spy shook his head, a sly smile on his lips as the mercenary poured more mead. "I think she is afraid that Lord Stark is going to hire us on. Watch out for the Lannister men tomorrow in the Melee."

"Speaking of the Melee," he sighed "I suppose this should be my last drink for the night."

X

A/N

That's it for now.

Dreamingfox


	4. Chapter 4

Brienne

The warm summer morn greeted the spectators as they returned to the stands around the tourney field. With the number of participants whittled down to 8 the parade of participants and the bouts would go quicker without needing to be rushed.

As one of the over seven score participants in the Melee, Brienne had been allowed to use the stables as she prepared herself. Several riders had also used the stables, though most had opted to keep their mounts closer to their pavilions as the Melee would not start until the morrow.

Standing well over six feet tall Brienne knew that the lance was adequate, but her size made it easy for her opponents as there was more than enough of her that could not be hidden behind a shield. Anyone truly skilled with a lance would be able to take advantage of that fact and unhorse her.

"A hundred dragons on the Kingslayer," she heard one of the riders offer.

"That's a fool's bet," a familiar voice stated, bringing a slight blush to the scruffy blond woman. She knew the speaker, had even met him on a few occasions. Many said that he was a spitting image of his brother in his prime, though it was there that their resemblance ended. Standing tall in his majestic green armor and donning a magnificent antler crowned helm he had his back to her. "The girl is a surprise, but I doubt that she can best the Kingslayer."

"I'll take that bet," a gruff voice proclaimed behind her. Spinning around she spotted the heavy set man in blue-grey armor. The emblem on his shield was not one that she recognized, though it matched the shield that the Kingslayer's opponent bore. He stood a good head shorter than she did, and though his body appeared to be a bit round the way that he moved suggested that he had plenty of muscle beneath the armor.

"I'll put a hundred on the Kingslayer," Lord Renly seconded as he waved for his squire.

"Aye," the older man nodded as he pulled out a pouch. "One hundred a piece – it'll be nearly as easy as taking gold from the Lannisters."

All three men chuckled even as they turned their attention to the bout. Not wanting to appear uninterested Brienne stood behind them and watched as well. On the first tilt Jaime Lannister shifted in his seat just before impact, leaning into his blow and attempting to throw off his opponent's aim at the last second. His tactic failed to do anything but shatter his lance as the girl allowed her shield to absorb the blow and even connected with her own lance on his shield though it did not hit with enough force to unseat him or shatter.

Reaching the end of the lists Lannister was handed a fresh lance by his squire. Once ready he urged his mount on. Again he attempted to unseat her with the last second shift. Unfortunately for the Kingslayer his opponent was ready and had matched his movement with a subtle shift of her own. Her lance was the first to shatter, yet even as it did so she leaned into his lance, throwing him off balance for a fraction of a second before this lance shattered. Unable to compensate for the shifting weights and momentum the Kingslayer fell off his mount.

"I'll be taking my gold then," the elderly fighter stated.

"That you shall," Renly sighed. "That girl is good – I've never seen one who could handle her saddle and lance like that Cid."

"Well, she didn't get that from me," the man known as Cid laughed heartily. "I'm sure you heard of what she'd said last night."

Lord Renly nodded, "That she's slain a dragon."

Cid nodded, "She's the best dragoon I have ever set my eyes upon. Her skill with a spear, javelin, or lance is impressive indeed. I know that there are many who think the Stormriders are naught but fools and braggarts, so to prove ourselves we will be presenting the King with dragon skulls. Tell no one as we wish it to remain a surprise."

"I wish you would reconsider my offer," Lord Renly said as his squire paid Cid. "If you had a complete skeleton I would think it an honor to display one at Dragonstone."

"It is generous," Cid admitted, "but the troupe thought it best to wait until after they make a name for themselves in the tourney before they accept any offers for work. If things go well we might even manage to recruit a few lads and lasses. As to the skeletons, well, the bones make useful weapons. The Dothraki love to make bows out of the ribs, not to mention the uses for the other bones."

"Then why not sell the bones? You could make a fortune!"

Cid shook his head. "Years from now when people think of the Hand's Tourney they will remember only that the Stormriders made a name for themselves."

The other gambler shook his head. "I doubt that many would take your troupe on. There is peace in the land and the boys are young"

"But disciplined."

The man nodded. "And then there's the matter of the girls – even in the east"

"They do not treat women as equals," finished Cid sternly. "I dare you to say that to Temperance or Meliadoul! Even Alma knows how to handle herself in a battle – that's more than you could say of the Prince or of most a few years older than her."

"I think my performance thus far is proof enough of my worth." The girl known as Temperance Stormwaters casually strode up to the group on her mount. "It will be their own fault when I eliminate them in the tourney this afternoon. If someone were to underestimate me because I am a woman that is their fault, not mine own. They but prove themselves more a fool to believe that a woman cannot be a man's equal. "

Piercing grey eyes silenced the naysayer even as Lord Renly climbed atop his mount to face the Mountain that Rides.

Despite her prayers for his victory Brienne found herself afraid for Lord Renly. It had been Sir Clegane who had slain the young Sir Hugh of the Vale. His mount was far larger than most, yet it was nothing beneath the giant of a man that rode it. No shield could hide him, but few were capable of unseating the Mountain, especially with a tourney lance.

She knew that Renly had no chance, and she was right. The King's brother was unceremoniously upended. Time froze for Brienne, her lungs and heart refusing to act until finally Lord Renly pushed himself onto his hands and knees. A mighty cheer erupted from the stands he regained his feet, the cause of the sound in his hand. Playfully he tossed the broken golden antler into the crowd. The riot that ensued ended only when the gracious lord stepped into the crowd, bestowing several dozen stags to those involved.

The remaining bouts flew by with little fanfare - Ramza Snowstorm losing to the Hound after three tilts and King awarding the bout to the Prince's guardsman and the Knight of Flowers defeating Robar Royce.

The semi-finals saw the Hound best the Ramza Snowstorm in three tilts that were awarded to the Stormrider when neither rider was unseated.

But it was the second semi-final bout that captured everyone's attention, not for the result, but the aftermath. Enraged that the Knight of Flowers had apparently employed some underhanded trick that allowed the smaller knight to win, the Mountain called for his squire even as Sir Loras played to the crowd, his defeated foe forgotten. It was not until the Mountain had beheaded his steed with his mighty great sword that the spectators realized what was happening. Screams and cries added to the chaos as the Mountain closed on Sir Loras even as he was calling for his own squire.

The sudden appearance of Ramza Snowstorm on the field barely registered in Brienne's mind as she rushed to grab her sword. She did not know what words the Mountain and the Stormrider exchanged but in an instant the huge blade was cutting through the air at the unarmed youth. As quickly as it had begun it was over and the Mountain was flat on his back as Ramza used the big man's momentum to flip him and slam him into the ground.

* * *

Marach

The chill of the early autumn night was held at bay by the fire in the brazier, yet it was the same brazier that allowed the Stormriders to spy on virtually all of King's Landing. After Wilfrid's accidental discovery of the elemental catalysts needed to properly perform magic things had become all the easier for Marach. The special brazier that he had constructed around a dragon's skull allowed him to use fire to scry anywhere in the city so long as there was a fire nearby. In the royal city there were flames everywhere – torches along the walls of the castles, torches carried by guardsmen as well as conspirators traveling through secret passages, candles used to illuminate the room while writing a letter, braziers that warmed the rooms where secret lovers met – all were useful, though the mage needed to filter out the less useful fires from the more useful ones. It was tedious but necessary, and far easier to deal with than the magical wasps that he had brought with him. The wasps were still useful, but now he did not need to rely on them exclusively.

*Did you know that the language we know as Lesalian is very similar to High Valyrian?* the studious scribe said off-handedly as he stirred a small cauldron and read from a book. Like most of the other members of the Stormriders, Wilfrid was able to do multiple things at once though his favorite combination of activities was reading and brewing potions. It was not that he was reading the instructions on how to brew a potion, which would have been the logical conclusion; no, Wilfrid liked to read other things while brewing potions.

The most that Marach had been able to do was write notes or make rough drawings while he was scrying. The concentration needed to work his magic forced him to focus on just scrying and occasionally getting a word in here and there though he wished that he could do other things while he scrying. "Would you be quiet, please?" he strained focus on what the flames were showing him. "I'm trying to discover who the Queen wants dead."

"That's obvious," the scribe replied.

Marach refused to let the other boy draw him into his conversation.

*She wants us dead,* Wilfrid stated.

*There are others that she wants dead as well,* Radd stated as he slipped into the tent.

Grunting, Marach released the spell. The fire in the brazier turned orange as the magic infused into the flames receded. "I give up," he sighed. While not as taxing as employing his wasps, scrying via fire was a process that he needed to refine. *I was just trying to figure out why she wanted us dead as well as the King.*

Even the ever cool Radd paused as he made to examine Wilfrid's work. For his part the scribe/chemist looked up from his book but refused to stop adding ingredients to the potion.

*The Queen wants the King dead, and us as well,* he explained. *The people I was spying on know about this but are not party to the plan.*

*An information broker,* concluded Radd.

Marach shook his head, *It sounded more like someone who is trying to use that information for his own benefit. This is far more than I can handle alone.*

*Ralpha*

*Ralpha does not know this type of magic,* he said, cutting off his friend. *Ken, Wilfrid and Pauline are our best mages aside from myself and Reis. Wilfrid's already busy brewing and he's our best chemist so I won't take him off of those duties.*

Radd nodded reluctantly. They really were stretched thin. *I will have Kenneth and Pauline help you, and I'll speak to Beowulf about setting our guards tonight. I doubt anything will happen to the others, but they should be prepared.*

*The Queen wants us dead, and she appears to have put things in motion to achieve that end, but what of the King?* Wilfrid asked as he absently stirred the cauldron.

*It sounds as though she has set things in motion, but they are not complete,* Marach sighed as he rubbed his forehead. *She had that knight killed, and I wouldn't be surprised if she had her father's bannermen try to kill Temperance and Ramza as well, but the attack on that knight seems to be the result of Sir Clegane's temper and not the Queen's order.*

*Did you find out why she wanted Sir Hugh dead?*

Marach shook his head. *I did find out that the King's Hand suspects that the Queen was involved. He also believes that her family had a hand in his predecessor's death.*

That tidbit froze the other youths in their tracks.

*I suppose that Ramza will definitely want to hear that,* he surmised.

The others nodded but it was Radd who responded, *I suppose he will.*

* * *

Arya

'Swift as a deer,' Arya though as she took in the scene on the tourney field. 'Quick as a snake - that is what Ramza Snowstorm is.'

The young free rider was perhaps no older than her brother Rob, and stood half a head shorter too, yet he had stood his ground between the Mountain and the Knight of Flowers, unwilling to allow the enraged knight to approach his target. Wearing his armor and baring no weapons or shield he stood firm. "Stop."

"Out of the way boy!" the Mountain growled threateningly as he took another massive step forward.

Ramza eyed the other man, "No."

Growling like a bear the Mountain swung his great sword in a diagonal slash. Blood clung to the blade, evidence of what it was capable of as Sir Gregor had nearly beheaded his own steed with it.

To the surprise of everyone who could see him, Ramza dashed in, closing the distance between them before anyone could even utter a cry of surprise. Catching the big man's wrists in his hand the youth spun even as he pulled down, throwing the Mountain into the air before sending him crashing down onto the packed earth. The thunderous crash was far louder than the breaking of Lord Renly's antler and silenced the crowd.

"I said enough," Ramza said as he gazed down at the stunned giant. To emphasize his point he lifted the Mountain's blade and threw it aside.

'The blade's longer than he is tall,' Arya thought to herself as she heard applause fill the stands.

"That will be enough," the King's booming voice proclaimed. Over a full score of blades were drawn, another score of men at arms or knights had their hands on their hilts. "Take him to the tower dungeon so that he can cool his head."

The final bout seemed a mere formality as the Knight of Flowers and the final Stormrider rode two tilts before the seemingly distracted Sir Loras was knocked off of his mount.

Though he had been escorted from the tourney grounds, the Mountain was the most memorable rider in the tourney and the Stormriders had emerged with the win and the crowd's favor. Arya couldn't help but think about the calm and cool Ramza. Had she not seen it herself she would not have believed it, though many in attendance had no doubt embellished the Stormrider's accomplishment. As they left the stands she heard how Ramza had stood his ground wearing silks and furs, had sent the Mountain flying the length of the list, and robbed him of his armor.

"Did you see with your eyes?" Syrio asked her as he accompanied her to the archery field.

Arya nodded. "He stood his ground and flipped the Mountain."

A slight smile and nod told her that there was more that she hasn't seen, or at least hadn't thought about. Mentally she replayed the scene, looking past the numerous Kingsguard and men at arms that had been slow to intervene. "He was swift as a snake and fast as a deer."

The smile broadened, "And?"

The girl paused, unsure. "He was calm as still water, strong as a bear, and fierce as a wolverine. The man known as the Mountain was strong as a bear and fierce as a wolverine too, but he was not calm as still water.

"I should like to see how he handles himself in the tourney."

For the first time Arya felt that she too was looking forward to watching a Melee.

* * *

Reis

The Hand's Tourney was proving to be the best thing that had happened since their arrival in Westeros. Not only was it an opportunity for the troupe to acquire some much needed money, it was also giving Marach and the others a chance to explore the city without the usual encumbrances of the thick crowds.

The spy's discovery of the hidden passages into the Tower of the Hand as well as several other locations had yet to be shared with Ramza, but both Cid and Beowulf knew and they had decided to not let this opportunity pass. With Cid, Ramza, Radd, Temperance, and Pauline busy with the Joust and Archery competitions that left Kenneth, Wilfrid, Rose, Ralpha, and herself to explore leaving the others to their duties or to tend to the tent.

Marach had not blinked an eye when she had volunteered to venture into the Tower of the Hand, though he had asked Rose to accompany her as it was one of the few places that could prove troublesome to them.

The Dragonkin could not help but marvel at the ease with which the younger woman could blend into the shadows. Within the troupe everyone called them the twins not because of they shared blood, but because they appeared to be so similar in personality and physically. Of the troupe they were the first to become Fell Knights, though they both preferred to move silently in the shadows than to use their skills with swords.

After a while she forgot that Rose had even accompanied her as the silent girl kept to the shadows. Or had she opted to take a different fork in the tunnel? Reis wasn't sure.

Her focus now on the ancient presence's call she strode forward confidently, her steps never faltering in the darkness. After what she assumed was over an hour she found herself in a large room. Despite the lack of light she could clearly see the skulls of many ancient and powerful dragons, the largest of which dwarfed even the mighty Dark Celibate.

Though they were long dead the empty sockets seemed to follow her as she walked through the room until finally she stood before the oldest and largest. Tentatively she reached out to touch the cool, black skull. Suddenly the world went black.

Dragons are wickedly smart, just as smart as humans, but their thought processes were vastly different. Rather than conversing with words they expressed intent. Even a dead dragon could pass on knowledge to another dragon, or in this case a dragonkin.

As the darkness receded around Reis knew what she needed to do. Down the line she went, touching each skull, allowing them to impart their knowledge and dying wishes onto her.

* * *

Eddard

Despite the hectic and chaotic morning Eddard found himself in a pleasant mood. After speaking with Sir Barristan Selmy in the early morn over the body of Sir Hugh of the Vale, settling the knight's account with his armorer, and talking the King out of participating in the Melee had been tiring yet fruitful.

The Queen's absence during the morning meal had helped both his and the King's moods. At times it felt as though they were still young and free of their responsibilities as Robert shared tales of their youth with the others.

Things had taken a dark turn though when Sir Clegane had attempted to attack the Knight of Flowers. Sansa had nearly broken down hysterically when the Mountain had beheaded his stead. If not for the timely intervention of Ramza Snowstorm someone might have died. Even the Kingsguard and the other men at arms and knights had not reacted so quickly as the Stormrider, and before any of them had even drawn their swords the whole incident was over and the Mountain was on the ground and unarmed.

The tourney had eventually been won by Temperance Stormwaters, and the archery competition had nearly been won by Pauline Stormwaters. Though she had been able to shoot the furthest she was not the most accurate.

The Melee had gone in the Stormrider's favor though. With five entrants in a field of over seven score Eddard had expected the contest to last longer. Many had scoffed at the Stormriders' boasts that they had slain dragons and other creatures, and when they had started the Melee on foot few thought that they would prevail. Their effort and eventual victory though changed many minds.

Over the course of a Melee it is not unusual for the various knights to form short term alliances, especially if they are familiar with each other. Several such alliances had been formed in this Melee, yet it was clear that none stood a chance against the five Stormriders. Even afoot they were more than a match for their opponents. The first to fall to their blunted blades had been a group of Lannister bannermen. Over a score in number and mounted, their quick departure made it all the more evident to the spectators that the Stormriders were a viable force.

Typical tactics called for the five participants to stand shoulder to shoulder, shield to shield so that they could close ranks, yet with only five of them fighting they had opted to stand a few paces apart so that they were close enough to assist each other but far enough to not encumber each other.

Temperance Stormwaters drew much attention from the mounted knights, each seeking to best the tourney's victor in the Melee yet her skill with a spear easily matched if not exceeded her skill with a lance. With the reach her weapon gave her she easily unseated all who came near her.

Ramza with his flail and blunt sword cut a path of devastation through the field. His flail unhorsed many, while also lashing out to assist his companions. Cid, Meliadoul, and Beowulf displayed their skills with swords, taking down many knights while their shields were battered relentlessly. As one the quintet moved. If one of them moved in some direction the others quickly followed suit, ensuring that they did not leave each other unprotected.

In less than an hour the five unmounted warriors had eliminated over a score of Lannister bannermen. It was uncanny how efficiently Ramza Snowstorm could either shatter a shield with his flail or unhorse them before striking them down with his sword. Whenever someone came close enough to strike he acted first.

Once the Lannister bannermen had been dealt with the other, smaller alliances took notice. Smaller factions moved to test the Stormriders, others moved to take advantage of their position and forced others between their group and the Stormriders.

The quintet held their own until only the cream of the crop remained. Less than a score of combatants remained, five of them were Stormriders. Sir Loras, Thoros of Myr, Lord Renly, and the Hound were the most notable of the remaining knights. The rest were free riders and hedge knights.

In an odd show of sportsmanship the Hound dismounted before leveling his great sword at Ramza. Around him the other participants did the same. All around them the other participants dismounted. Thoros' flaming blade scared many of the other mounts, giving him a distinct advantage over the other riders, but on foot he was still a skilled swordsman.

Ramza nodded, accepting the Hound's challenge. The Hound did not rush and opted for a more cautious approach. While he was not as large as his brother he was several heads taller than Ramza and combined with his great sword he easily kept the Snowstorm at bay. It was not until the young blond caught the great sword in the cord of his flail and then hammered with his own sword that he managed to disarm the Hound. A resounding strike connected with the Hound's helm, signaling his elimination from the Melee.

In the time it took him to eliminate the Hound his companions had bested all but five – Sir Loras, Lord Renly, a free rider/sell sword, Thoros of Myr, and a woman known as Brienne of Tarth.

Sir Loras managed to defeat Temperance Stormwaters with the assistance of a sell sword though that alliance ended once the Stormrider was eliminated. Brienne and Renly pressed Meliadoul and Beowulf, though the Stormriders refused to give ground. Cid dispatched Thoros, shattering his flaming sword before moving to face Sir Loras before the young knight pointed his blade at Ramza.

With a nod Ramza accepted, sending the ancient swordsman to assist the others. The two youths were of similar builds and height, their weapons roughly matched in length yet there were many more differences between them. Ramza only used his weapons when he intended to either strike or defend while Loras' blade danced singing a tune of parries, slashes, stabs, and feints. Every time the Knight of Flowers moved to strike at his opponent he was greeted with a powerful series of counters that battered his shield. For every strike he landed on Ramza three answered. It was a battle of attrition that the Knight of Flowers could not win. It did not help that the other remaining Stormriders had bested their opponents.

In an unusual display of honor and respect, the others waited for Ramza to finish off Sir Loras before turning on him.

Eddard would have thought that even those odds did not favor Ramza, but having seen him dismantle the Knight of Flowers, the Hound, and the Mountain he was no longer sure about that. Of the three only, Cid managed to land a blow on Ramza though his rewards was a felling blow to the chest by Ramza's flail which eliminated him. It did not take long for Ramza to best Meliadoul and Beowulf despite their best efforts.

After nearly three and a half hours the Melee was finally over. With the Stormriders emerging victoriously and with their strong display few dared to call them braggarts or liars.

"The Hand's Tourney will be remembered as the Stormrider's Tourney," Littlefinger stated. Though he had been loathed to name a victor early on, the Master of Coin had finally placed a bet on the eventual winner being a Stormrider. "I have never seen anyone who could defeat the Hound, the Mountain, or the Knight of Flowers. I doubt even the Kingslayer could claim to have done so."

* * *

Ramza

There were few things that the youngest Beoulve son disliked more than gregarious ceremonies and banquets yet here he found himself. Fortunately he was not alone as the rest of his Stormriders were present. From what he had managed to hear his troupe had certainly captured the attention of the people and their nobles. They had gone from the youthful braggarts to the brutally efficient and skilled sell swords. While there were still those who called them liars none dared to say such a thing in their presence.

With all that Marach and the others had told him, Ramza understood why they were loathed to remain in King's Landing. There were a multitude of offers from a wide variety of noble lords and ladies seeking to secure the services of their troupe, and many more offers for them to travel with many more of them back to their castles and lands. Even he had to admit that some of the offers were tempting, but without truly knowing the lands and their lords he could not commit himself or his team to them.

Sipping at his chilled honey milk he smiled as another lord praised him for his performance in the Melee and the Tourney. 'The Queen wants us dead,' he thought as he eyed the smiling beauty. Experience told him that there was more venom behind her smile than anything else. 'She also wants the King dead.' He glanced at the King's right hand man and loyal friend. 'The Hand believes that the Queen had a hand in killing his predecessor, and that her brother hired an assassin to kill his son. He also was interested in Gendry, and I think I know why.'

With all of the Stormrider's present at the banquet it had not taken long for Ramza to understand why the Queen's glare had been most intently directed at the troupe's smith. As a bastard himself he understood the significance of the King's resemblance to their smith. It did not help that she had disliked them for their role in the resolution of the incident between the Prince and the Hand's daughter at the Trident, but for them to take in the King's bastard was adding injury to insult.

Finally, "Do you not like the Dawnish wine?" the Knight of Flowers asked Ramza as he offered to pour some into the free rider's goblet.

"I do not drink alcohol because I prefer to enjoy my life as it is," he replied coolly as he focused on the young knight before him. "While it may enhance the flavor of the meats or help one relax, I have never felt the need to rely on it."

"Of course," the Queen said as the Kingslayer poured her a measure of wine, "if I were able to think up stories about how to kill a dragon sober I wouldn't need to drink either."

"If you had fought a dragon you would know that alcohol would make you all the more flammable," Temperance chimed in. "But since no one has had the time to stop by our tent in the commons we arranged to have the remains of two dragons brought to the feast."

All eyes turned to the two Stormriders, and then followed their gaze to the Queen. Her face showed no emotion as six more Stormriders approached the feast. Broken up into three pairs the first set bore a wooden platter with a blackened skull. The distinctive black tone to the bone occurred only in dragonbone due to their high iron content.

"This one was a young green and had yet to learn how to breathe fire, though his claws, teeth, and tail were more than sufficient to rip through even the strongest mail," Ramza explained as the servants set the skull before the King's table. The skull was perhaps the size of a large hound and lacked the shiny polished look of the skulls that once hung about the throne room. "These are, perhaps, six months old so the bones are still able to be used to make fine weapons.

"This one what they called a hydra – a three headed dragon," he added as the second platter was presented. Three skulls, each roughly the size of a knight's breastplate, with menacing fangs the length of a man's forearm, burdened the servers and the platter. "This one breathed fire hot enough to melt stone.

"These are some of the smaller dragons that we fought." The third platter had half a dozen skulls of assorted sizes. The largest was the size of the Imp's chest, the smallest the size of a man's head. "I hope that these help prove what we are capable of." Ramza's clear blue eyes gave all of their naysayers an icy glare, daring them to voice their criticisms and doubts.

"I have no doubt of your prowess," Tyrion Lannister stated as he stood in his seat. "If you could unman the Mountain then surely a dragon would not be the match for your troupe. And while I think that you are missing out on some of the finer things in life" he lifted his goblet and took a mighty gulp "it just means that there is more for me." Again he raised his cup, this time for the serving girl to fill it.

A quick smile formed on Ramza's face as he raised his goblet of chilled milk to match the Imp's.

"To the Stormriders," Tyrion proposed "may your skills never be needed in Westeros!"

Tensions eased, the crowd drank to the young free riders.

"I would like to see those skulls though they do look unappetizing," Tyrion added as he smiled at Ramza. "I've always found dragons to be so fascinating."

"Of course you would," Temperance interjected. "But when it's staring you down you might not find it as fascinating then."

"I'm sure I'd be thinking if my piss has enough alcohol in it that it would make me burn hotter or if it might be enough to put out the fire." His roaring laughter drowned out the conversations of those seated near to the Stormriders. "But since these are mere skulls I would think that I might be able to drink without having to fear for my life."

Ramza watched as Temperance led the short man down to the skulls as they all waited for the next course to be served.

Shifting his gaze Eddard watched as Sir Loras attempted to engage Ramza in tales of his past exploits. "During the Prince's Name Day Tourney I unseated Sir Jaime Lannister. Though I did not have as easy time of it as Temperance, I did learn something from it. Experienced riders know their mount's strengths and weaknesses, and they know how to make weaknesses into strength."

"I do think that this tourney will be remembered as the debut of the Stormriders," the Lord Stark stated. "Besting the Mountain, winning the Tourney and Melee, and now presenting the King with these trophies – it is almost as though you wished a boon of his majesty."

His blue eyes locked with Lord Stark's grey ones, "Perhaps." His response was lough enough just for the Hand to hear. With most of those at the table now inspecting the skulls Ramza hoped that he could have a private conversation with the Hand of the King, yet Sir Loras' presence complicated things.

"I suppose I shall freshen my drink," the young knight stated as he excused himself.

Now alone the two warriors exited the table with Ramza leading the older man far enough away that no one could overhear them converse. With a nod from Marach, the blond knew that they were safe to talk. "My Lord Hand, I would like your support with the request that I am about to propose to the King."

"And what is it that you wish?" he asked nonplussed. "With your winnings I am sure you can procure some land anywhere, and more than a few lords would seek to have any or all of you relocate to their lands."

"If it was land we wanted I am sure we could convince some lord to accept us," Ramza agreed. "But we do not look to bind ourselves to any lords. We are bastards that no one wanted but we have banded together. Even now there are those who would deny us employment because of that fact despite our victories these past two days. We are better served by not being bound to a single lord and traveling the land dealing with any brigands and bandits, but we lack any authority."

"You wish to dispense the King's justice?" Eddard replied skeptically.

Ramza nodded, "To a degree. You saw the men that we captured and who now are on a ship north to the Wall, did you not?"

It was Lord Stark's turn to nod. "Go on."

"We have seen enough war in our travels in the East," Ramza added. "Though we are young we do not wish to claim any lands yet. We would like to travel through Westeros and keeping the peace, while also helping those who like us, were unwanted or wanted more than to just settle for our lot in life. We wish to offer others a chance to make something of themselves without having to become rogues and thieves.

"We do not wish to simply recruit members, but to serve the land. If ever the Night's Watch is in need of swords we will gladly assist them, but when we eventually wish to settle down we would like to be able to use the Gift. There we could continue to serve the land by helping the Night's Watch."

Looking into the lord's eyes he made sure not to look away as he wished to convey his sincere wish to serve this land. "I also think that Prince Joffrey would benefit from going with us." Steel gray eyes looked him over. "What I know of the prince leads me to believe that he needs some seasoning, and what better time than now when he is nearly a man grown? As the King's heir he would be able to see the kingdom that he is to rule without any Lannister bias. It would also be a chance for him to learn of the duties he will be responsible for as king. Let us take him with us in our travels and have Joffrey set up court in the other cities and castles, dispensing the King's justice as we go.

"Cid is also an excellent master of arms and with the rest of us around he would learn how and when to use his weapon. You have seen our prowress in the field – I assure you that we would keep him safe."

He could tell that the lord was considering what he had said. It had not been the best constructed argument but it was an honest one.

"I understand that your daughter is betrothed to the prince," he added, laying out his final card. "Would you want her to marry him as he is now?"

The look on Lord Stark's face was all he needed. Both of them had been present when the King had reprimanded the Prince for lying about the incident with Arya Stark's direwolf. That had been enough for both of them to know that Joffrey as he was now was not a good person, yet he was still young enough to change provided that certain influences were removed.

"I shall talk to the King about your proposal," Lord Eddard finally said. "Do not mention this to anyone else."

* * *

A/N

I really did want this fic to follow the books more, but as with all of my cross-overs the plot is the first casualty. The idea that the Stormriders would sign up with the Starks in the War of Kings was tempting, but they're just too damn powerful. As a whole they are too powerful, so look for them to have a handicap. What could be tougher than making Joffrey into a good king?

Dreamingfox


	5. Chapter 5

Eddard

The smell of the scent of the godswood reminded Eddard so much of Winterfell. Taking a deep breath he let the feel of the air calm his nerves.

"Damn you Ned!" his friend cursed. "Why did I let you call me to the godswood at such an ungodly hour?"

Standing tall he turned to face his king. "Robert," he said, hoping to appeal to his friend and not his king, "I apologize but there is something that I needed to discuss with you away from court though it involves your household."

For a moment Robert glared at him, soaking in his words.

"Do you recall our conversation this morn?"

Robert nodded, "Aye, what of it?"

"You yourself said that you feared to leave the kingdom to Joffrey and Cersei and her council," each word seemed to release some tension in his shoulders. He could tell that Robert was interested.

"You know as well as I do that he will never be able to live the wild life that we had when we were his age, not as long as his mother hovers protectively over him." He noted his friend's nod. "With her over whispering into his ear he is not like to become the type of son that any man would be proud of. But Ramza Snowstorm, bastard that he might be, he would make any father proud."

The look on Robert's face told him that he was seriously considering the idea.

"The Stormriders are a humble and loyal lot – loyal to each other and to no lords it is true, but loyal to the kingdom. Most of them are only a year or two older than he is, but I hear that they are taking on youths who have not been able to squire with anyone. Let Joffrey be with others who are his age for a while. I know that you have no fosterlings or wards that he can be around, even at court there are few around his age. This would be an opportunity for him to travel the kingdom with others his age and for him to learn of how the world works without his mother constantly whispering into his ear or hovering over him."

"Cersei won't like this," Robert grumbled.

He nodded. "I doubt she will, but Joffrey needs something like this. How else would you attempt to make him into the kind of man that other men strive to be and that any father would be proud of? I am sure that when he comes back he would be a son-in-law that I would have no doubts about Sansa marrying."

Again Robert nodded. From the look on his face he could see that his friend was convinced but that he had yet to reach the point where he would be willing to go against his wife's wishes or endure her temper.

"If I had this opportunity before departing Winterfell I would have sent John and Rob with them. I know that many of the lords are looking to have their second or third sons, and even some of their daughters ride with them since the troupe is not signing on under any one lord."

As Robert considered the offer, Ned could not help but think back on his secret conversation with Lord Varys. Sending Joffrey out would disrupt the Queen's plans and would perhaps provide him with more time to discover the truth behind John Aryon's death and the attempt on Bran's life. If she feared him now, she would definitely hate him once Robert sent Joffrey with the Stormriders.

"Have you discovered who their families are?" Robert asked finally.

Ned shook his head, "There were many orphans after your rebellion and many unclaimed children as well. If they are the children of some lord or lady I doubt anyone could claim them, though no doubt there are many who would want to claim them now."

A somber sigh escaped his friend as he shook his head. "Any man would be proud to call Ramza his son. The lad is nearly a man grown yet he has accomplished more than even most seasoned knights."

"We have been at peace for over a decade," Ned added. "That is a good thing."

"Yes, yes it is," Robert agreed.

'And this could ensure more peace,' Ned thought as he eyed the king's face. "He would not be alone. Sir Loras has asked to accompany them, as have several younger knights and if he wishes, Joffrey can even bring the Hound with him."

Again Robert gave him a skeptical look.

"I would not suggest this if I did not believe them to be honorable men."

Finally Robert nodded. "What do we do?"

"We tell no one," Eddard stated. "When the Stormriders come to court tomorrow they will ask a boon rather than for the gold that they won in the Tourney. All you have to do is tell them yes or no."

"Cersei is not going to like this," he grumbled.

Ned walked over to his friend and put a hand on Robert's shoulder, "You are the King. There is nothing that you do or say that she can overrule."

* * *

Ramza

In the few months since arriving in Westeros Ramza had come to accept that this world was large, far larger than Ivalice. As large as Westeros was it was insignificant compared to the rest of the world and how little those in Westeros knew of the rest of their world. The sheer size of this world was going to make things all the more complicated.

"I fear that you will need to stay here," he finally admitted. "There is just too much that we do not know…"

"You want me to keep the King safe and report to you?" Marach asked skeptically.

"Bert, Rose, Pauline, and Wilfrid will stay to assist you." He knew his friend well enough to know what he would need and what he wanted. The assassin was best suited to this job, but for him to work at his full potential with such a small staff he would need his sister far away from him. After all he did not want her to see the depths that he was willing to let himself sink. "Just promise me that you won't do anything stupid."

Marach smiled, "I'd ask the same of you but I know better."

Ramza returned his smile.

"The taimat skull braziers will allow us to communicate, and Wilfrid has brewed more than enough potions to last even you a few months. Just go easy on Gendry and mycah."

"I doubt that they will be training with me yet." While he was their best and most knowledgeable in the various weapons and skills, Kenneth was the best instructor. "I might have my hands full with Loras and Brienne."

"That's what you said about Cid and Meliadoul too," it was rare for the assassin to slow any mirth beyond a smile, yet the usually solemn youth managed a chuckle.

*Are you sure about this?* Marach finally asked, switching to their native tongue.

Ramza forced himself to maintain a warm tone in his voice in case someone was listening in, *War would be bad for the people. I care not for who rules Westeros, but I do not want the people suffer. The lords will not care about the suffering that the commoners will surely endure. This may make the Queen reconsider her plans.*

*Or make her rush them.*

Again he nodded. *He is nearly old enough to rule. The boy is not fit to rule as he is currently. And if he does not rule then he will be little more than a cruel puppet that thinks nothing of the common people.*

*Perhaps he will be the king who sees this world burn.*

Ramza shook his head, *If he is then he is. I will try to keep this world from dying.*

*You think that Reis is right?*

*I think that the dragon spirits believe this world is unbalanced. I may not have your magical ability, but even I have felt how wrong the flow of this world's magic is.*

*Resorting the balance may not keep the peace nor will it ensure that the people will be safe.*

For a moment Ramza paused. *I know,* he wanted to say more, but he couldn't. Finally, *Keep the King alive, but if it comes down to it the Hand is more important. It will be hard to replace you on the trail, but I believe I have found a man that may aid you here.*

It was Marach's turn to be intrigued. While Ramza had a clear eye for assessing how honorable and honest men were, he rarely delved into the seedier side of things. *I believe the man is associated with the Guild of Faceless Men and is willing to assist you with information and establishing contacts.

*I hope that Gendry is able to take the field once we leave the capital, though he will not be facing bandits yet.*

"Brienne of Tarth," Marach said as he switched to the common tongue of Westeros "is a formidable blade."

Ramza nodded.

*She may not be a sword of the King's brother, but she is devoted to him.*

*I will have Temperance keep an eye on her.*

"The sell swords Bronn and Chiggen are capable," the assassin added. *But they are only interested in themselves.* Of all the sell swords and free knights that wished to travel with them those three were the most intriguing.

*As were you once.*

A smile threatened to form on Marach's face. *Be careful.*

*We will.* Extending his hand he returned his friend's awkward smile, "We shall meet again."

"We shall," the other man said as he reached out to grasp his hand.

* * *

Brienne

The sound of metal clashing rang through the air as dozens of young hedge knights and free riders sought to prove themselves worthy of joining the Stormriders. It was no surprise that many young lords wished to join the now renowned group as they had acquitted themselves well in the Hand's Tourney, but the fact that they were now taking Prince Joffrey with them had sparked keen interest by other noble families with young and eager swords.

Not wishing to have their numbers swell unnecessarily the Stormriders had demanded at all applicants pass a string of tests to ensure that only those worthy would join their ranks. Being able to read and write, not being the heir to a noble family, and of course being a capable fighter were the most important factors, though rumor was that there was also a test of character, loyalty, and honesty that each applicant needed to pass before they would be considered. The rumored tests had eliminated nearly a score of the applicants while the official tests had eliminated all but a handful.

It was no surprise that Loras Tyrell had passed. The Knight of Flowers was the second of Mace Tyrell's three sons. As a noble he had learned to read and write along with learning to wield a sword and lance. Other notable new members were Walder Vance and Alyn Haigh, both were grandsons to Walder Frey through their mothers and also the third sons of their respective fathers, had impressed Cid and Beowulf enough that they had been allowed to join the Stormriders.

Three young hedge knights had been allowed to join, each glad that they had come to King's Landing for the Hand's Tourney. But it was the addition of the four young women that had the commoners talking. The four were commoners, not even sure who their fathers were, and had no formal training, yet they had endured the same tests as Loras Tyrell and passed. In truth none of them had managed to best Ramza, but neither had Loras.

Though they were allowed to travel with the Stormriders, they were not part of the troupe as membership had to be earned. It was of that fact that several other hedge knights, free riders, and sell swords camping around the Stormriders, each hoping to at least travel with or around them in hopes of catching their eye.

"You are getting better," Temperance stated as she helped one of the new girls to her feet. "You still need to know how to set your feet when you attack, but your balance is getting better."

Turning to address all of the girls the dragoon stood tall. "That will be enough for tonight. Make sure you check with Lady Alma about your bruises, I would not want you to be too banged up when we ride in the morn. Be ready by dawn, so be awake before then – if you are not then someone will wake you."

It was not until Temperance was out of earshot that the other men began to mutter their snide remarks.

"I'd love to wake up the red."

"Once they're on the road they'll be the ones getting ridden."

Several snickered at the remarks. One did not.

"If you feel the need to whisper when the Lady is not present it must mean that you are afraid of her wraith." The group turned around, startled by the sudden appearance of Ramza Snowstorm. "It is attitudes like that which we do not want or need in our troupe. You had best leave now or we will cross more than words."

Unwilling to face his wraith the men hastily departed.

"Make sure someone is always with the girls," Ramza said to Meliadoul. "I do not like how those men leered at them. Someone will need to stay with them on the road as well."

Regardless of her own thoughts about the Stormriders Brienne knew that she needed to ride with them. Her own preference was to stay beside Lord Renly, but he had insisted that she go with them. His faith in her ability had made her grateful for all of the time she had dedicated herself to her training. She would serve him with her sword arm, even if it meant that she had to go with the Stormriders.

* * *

Reis

The ride out of King's Landing had gone just as Ramza had expected. Departing early, the Stormriders had managed to get a good hour or two between them and the free riders who had wanted to follow them. With Marach and the Darkstorm twins the free riders had found themselves hampered. A thrown shoe here and there, a stiff hangover, saddles that needed repair, and the occasional pack that had found itself unpacked – all hindered the free riders as they attempted to catch up to the Stormriders.

Less than a day out of the capital the troupe had split, allowing them to travel faster, confuse their pursuers, and allow them to engage the more aggressive wildlife. Speed had always been one of the Stormrider's greatest assets. Unlike an army of thousands or even hundreds, the troupe of less than two score could move freely and quickly throughout the land, allowing them to reach their destination before their enemies could muster the necessary troops to stop them.

The split had also allowed the newly recruited girls a chance to become accustomed to the troupe as the women comprised one group and the men the other. Ramza had not liked the way that many of the men had leered at the girls, some of whom had worked in the brothels yet had felt that that was not the life for them. They had not been the only ones, but only four had endured enough to convince Ramza, Cid, Meliadoul, and Beowulf that they were willing to actually work towards changing their lot in life.

By the time that they two groups reunited in Storm's End over a fortnight later the four girls had begun to adapt to their horses and saddles, armor and weapons training. While they were not yet frontline fighters they were capable in their support roles and could defend themselves long enough for one of the more experienced fighters to aid them.

The splitting of the Stormriders also allowed her and Ralpha to slip away at night without drawing the attention of the new members. With only Brienne to consider, the pair of mystics was able to sneak off at night to plant weirwoods and even carve out a few new heart trees in the few weirwoods that they had found.

Kenneth and Wilfrid's discovery that this world's magic required elemental catalysts had made the use of their magic easier, but it was her discover that this world's elements were fire, ice, and earth that had shifted the troupe's use of magic. By drawing on earth and time they were able to turn seeds into young seedlings that would be capable of enduring the coming winter. The same magic allowed them to carve several ancient oaks, turning them into the venerable trees and increasing the flow of magic into the forest. If the scribe's calculations were correct then it would take a month for the land to feel the change and another generation for the wildlife to begin showing effects.

In a fortnight they had encountered several bands of bandits and brigands, most daring to hunt in the King's Wood without permission and all of them taking up arms against the women that they had thought were easy prey. Nearly a score had been cut down, while another half dozen had been captured, providing the new recruits with ample opportunity to prove themselves.

Upon joining up with Ramza's half of the troupe she could easily say that the boys had a far harder time. While they had not encountered any bandits they had crossed paths with several hungry packs of griffins – beasts that resembled a strange combination of chocobo that the hindquarters of a behemoth. By all accounts the mystical predators had not been sighted in over two centuries nearly coinciding with the extinction of dragons.

"If you had brought the griffin's head here you would have been famous!" Joffrey's voice lacked the cockiness that he had displayed in King's Landing, a sign that the first leg of their trip had not been fruitless.

Ramza for his part had taken the crown prince under his wing, dedicating his time to hammering out the boy's notions of, well, everything. "We did not need to kill it," the blue eyed youth stated. "So we lost a deer to it, there were plenty of others and the rabbit stew we had that night was excellent."

"But"

"I care not for fame," Ramza interrupted. "As it is I am more famous than I want to be as the winner of the Melee and as a Stormrider.

"As yourself, 'Who would benefit from killing the griffin?'"

"You would have," scoffed the Prince.

"Now ask yourself, 'Who suffers because the griffin is dead?'"

The green eyed youth looked at his mentor questioningly, unsure of the answer. Finally, "No one."

Casting a quick inspecting look at mycah as the youngest of the Stormriders held up a duck in one hand and a chicken in the other, Ramza pointed to the duck. "The other griffins would have suffered," he corrected. "If we had fought for that deer we would have had to fight four adult griffins. While Sandor is an excellent sword, I doubt that between the three of us we could have handled four griffins. They were far too quick to be hit by your bow, and you were far too lightly armored to handle one by yourself."

"We could have gone back to the camp, roused the men, and hunted the griffins down!" Joffrey exclaimed.

Ramza shook his head as several heads turned to eye them.

"Griffins roost where none can reach them." Using a slightly hushed tone that only the prince and Ramza could hear she joined their conversation. "We spotted a nest on our travels, though Temperance believed that it had long been abandoned."

"Then how do you know it was a griffin's nest?" the Prince demanded. While he had come to accept the men as his equal he had yet to do so with the women of the troupe.

"Mind your tongue," Ramza reprimanded lightly. "It does not do for you to raise your voice to your elder and senior, especially in public."

Behind them Sandor chuckled. Though he had been known as the Prince's faithful guardian and protector, his time with the Stormriders had appeared to soften the hard mask he usually donned.

"My, my apologies," Joffrey said with a slight bow. "I meant no disrespect, but who is it that you concluded that the abandoned nest was that of a griffin?"

"The feathers," she replied with a soft smile. "They were far different from that of the hawks and eagles we spotted, and while we did not encounter one, Temperance did see a few in the skies."

Again Joffrey was skeptical.

"You've seen me jump," Ramza stated. "Like Temperance, I too am a master dragoon. Only a dragoon could reach such heights without actually flying. And while I might be able to reach a griffin's roost I doubt that even I could clear out an entire nest. Nor would I want to over a deer."

"I doubt that my uncle has reached Storm's End." Joffrey's shifting of the topic signaled that he had ceded the point to his mentor and seniors. "He is not the type of man to take a ship that is not his own and even though we did not stick to the main road it took us but a fortnight to arrive. His entourage would take at least three weeks to travel through the Kingswood."

All of the Stormriders knew that the prince did not like to sup with mycah. The incident at the Trident was still fresh in both boys' minds, and the fact that mycah had proven himself a capable fighter and chemist under Kenneth's tutelage had irked the proud prince. Reis knew that Kenneth was not the best swordsman, but he was capable of holding his own against Sandor despite never besting the big man. Kenneth's strength had been held in check by Ramza and Cid as they had decreed that none outside of themselves were to display the skills they had learned as Dark Knights, Templar, or Sword Saint. While he was not a master dragoon, he had learned enough to be a considerable opponent. Favoring the sword he was itching for a chance to display the mystical abilities he had retooled to fit the flow of magic in Westeros.

"We will notify the castellan of our presence," Ramza stated. "Cid and Beowulf have already left to meet with him. If we are invited to sup with him then we shall, but we need to replenish our supplies and take our prisoners to the dungeons first.

"Reis," Ramza turned to her, "would you speak to Ralpha about visiting the taverns?"

She knew what he was asking. On the surface it would appear to be an errand to resupply their water, wine, and milk as well as other supplies while actually inquiring about any jobs and bounties that might need to be handled. It was a good opportunity for the newest members of their troupe to endear themselves to the locals as well as earn some coin and gain experience. While Ramza often preferred to handle these things himself his current duties prevented him from doing so. With Cid and Beowulf meeting the castellan and Marach in King's Landing it fell to Ralpha to handle those duties.

"Tend to your horse, your armor, and your weapons," Ramza ordered Joffrey as the group returned to the commons. Their trip into the markets had been much quicker as Storm's End was significantly smaller than King's Landing.

Though the younger boy stiffened, he nodded before heading back to their tent in the commons. Each of the Stormriders tended their own equipment instead of relying on a squire such as the knights in Westeros favored, a lesson that Joffrey had learned when the day that the troupe had split. Failure to be ready on time meant that your name was entered into the hat more times for guard duty, ensuring that you would have more rotations and thus less time to train. It also meant that you were left out of skirmishes or sorties. While a craven might prefer that, all of the members of the Stormriders knew that the best way to master their craft was in actual battle.

Before Ramza could move to inspect their temporary camp in the commons of Storm's End Reis' keen eye noted the presence of Cid and Beowulf along with a stern man who appeared to be the castellan of Storm's End. The fact that two score of Lord Renly's knights accompanied them signaled that something was amiss.

"It appears that we have been ordered back to King's Landing," Ramza whispered so that only she could hear. She eyed him, unsure of what to make of that tidbit of information. "Continue your mission. Take the girls and mycah to White Harbor. Escort the prisoners to Castle Black and wait for us there."

She nearly lost a step as she turned to follow him instead of heading to see Ralpha. Of all of them she had traveled the least with the troupe in Ivalice yet she and Beowulf had never doubted his decisions. They owed him and the other far more than they could express with words or deeds, yet he had never asked for anything. He had even told them that they could have gone their own way once they had settled things with the Holy Stones, but they had opted to stay with him.

They trusted him to give them the information that he felt they needed, and he trusted them to impart to him the information that they felt he needed. Each Stormrider had a role to play, and they did not all need to know what each of the other members was up to.

Nodding, she headed towards the girls' tent. All of the original Stormriders knew that Marach and a team of four others had remained in King's Landing. Given their particular skills, or at least the skills that they specialized in that the others did not, it seemed likely that they remained to gather information, but she did not know if they had been successful.

Still, she had her mission, and she was going to be allowed to follow thru with it even if Ramza was not with her for it.

* * *

Ramza

Fair winds guided the Seventh Sister into King's Landing providing Ramza with another view of the capital city that he had not previously had. Though he had again split Stormriders up he knew that this trip would unite him with those that he had left behind giving them enough manpower to handle their summons back to the royal city.

The truth was that the Stormriders as a whole were not ordered back to King's Landing, only that they return Joffrey, and thus Sandor Clegane. He'd chosen Loras, Brienne, Gendry and Cid to accompany him back while Beowulf took the rest of the company north on the First Sister to White Harbor along with their prisoners to be taken to Castle Black.

He knew why they were being summoned, thanks to Marach. Lord Eddard Stark, the Hand of the King, had finally discovered the truth behind Joffrey's true parentage, confronted the Queen, and then informed the King. The Queen had responded with a botched assassination attempt on the King and the Hand, foiled by the men he had left behind to guard them. The Queen, Kingslayer, and two of their three children were being held captive while they waited for the third to be returned so that the King could deal with them as a whole.

This was going to be troublesome, and complicated. Ramza hated when things became complicated. While he did not like the laws in Westeros, he knew that he had to abide by them. His strength was not in playing out different scenarios but in preparing his team to handle everything and anything.

He was not surprised when a company of knights, all baring the King's standard of a black stag with a crown on a golden field, met them at the docks.

"What's going on?" Taken aback by their escort, Joffrey eyed the knights.

"We know as much as you do," Cid replied. "The King requested that we bring you back immediately."

"Perhaps something has happened to your brother or sister," Sandor suggested. "Or there was an attempted assassination on one of your family."

The presence of another company of knights, this time gold cloaks, kept the commoners at bay and made their trip up to the castle quick. He could feel the tension thickening as they approached the castle.

Dismounting, he handed the reins to his mount to Bert. From the way the ninja moved it was clear that everyone thought he belonged there. Not wanting to draw any attention to his man Ramza strode towards the castle, leading the other Stormriders into castle and up into the throne room. The King's men and the gold cloaks followed behind.

He was surprised to see the Small Council was in attendance, though on hindsight he should not have expected it. In the time that it had taken the Stormriders to ride in from the docks the members of the small council had assembled. The Queen and her children, Tyrion Lannister, as well as the Kingslayer in ragged silks and chains stood on one side of the chamber along with three other members of the Kingsguard, each bloodied, bruised and chained. A full company of knights wearing the King's sigil stood guard throughout the room, half of them positioned behind the shackled prisoners.

"Mother!"

Ramza grabbed the boy's arm, holding him in place. "Be still," he ordered the princeling. "Remember your training."

To his credit Joffrey did as he was told, even matching Ramza's steps as the group presented itself to the King and the Council. Cid took the lead then came Joffrey, Ramza, and Gendry, with Loras, Sandor, and Brienne in back.

He'd known that the Hand had been injured by one of the now renegade Kingsguard in the attempted assassinations but had not known the extent of the man's injuries. The fact that his left arm was unfortunate, but he was standing under his own power was a good thing. Still, his usual stern and humorless visage held hint of his thoughts or emotions save his general disapproval.

"I understand if you have questions about why you were summoned back to King's Landing to appear before the Council," Lord Stark stated as he stood before the dais and the King that he represented.

As the face and voice of the troupe Cid nodded in response. "I had not thought that we would be summoned back to court so soon, it has only been a few short weeks since we departed."

"Much has changed since then. I discovered that the Queen has perpetrated a treasonous act against the King with the aid of her brother and lover, Jaime Lannister, they committed adultery."

Joffrey paled beside Ramza, quivering as he processed the information.

"Cersei has admitted that Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella are not the product of her marriage but of her affair with Jaime Lannister."

Ramza moved quickly, clamping his hand on Joffrey's arm to support him and to keep him from acting rashly. Around them the company of knights reached for the hilts of their swords or gripped their spears, ready to act should the Stormriders make any aggressive action.

The King glared at Joffrey, then at Cersei and the Kingslayer.

Seeing that nothing was going to happen yet, Eddard Stark resumed, "Furthermore Cersei Lannister attempted to have the King and those loyal to him assassinated and make it look as though Lord Renly Baratheon had attempted to usurp his brother and take the throne for himself.

"Arys Oackheart, Boros Blount, and Meryn Trant assisted in the attempt to assassinate the King, Lord Renly, and myself, as were a half dozen knights sworn to House Lannister.

"Sir Steffon Swyft, Sir Cedric Payne, Sir Lorimer, Sir Addam Marbrand, and Tywin Serrett took up arms against the King at the bequest of the Queen and were slain or died of their injuries. Those who were the head of their houses will have their titles stripped, their lands repossessed and distributed to loyal lords. The other families will have their children sent to Winterfell, Storm's End, and Dragon Stone where they will be wards of the respective Lords who rule with the King's favor.

"Tyrion Lannister has been accused of attempting to assassinate Bran Stark and conspiring with his siblings to assassinate the King."

Finally he turned his gaze to Joffrey, then to his siblings Tommen and Myrcella, then to Gendry, and again to Joffrey. "As the bastard children of Jaime Lannister, Joffrey, Tommen, and Mrycella have been removed from the register and are not recognized as King Robert Baratheon's heirs or children. Furthermore they are not entitled to any of House Lannister's lands or fortunes. They will hence forth be known as Joffrey Rivers, Tommen Rivers, and Myrcella Rivers."

The former queen sobbed at the proclamation, falling to her knees as her children were stripped of everything that she had tried to provide them.

"Myrcella and Tommen will be taken to the Free Cities across the narrow seas where they can live in exile," Eddard added once the cries of their mother had subsided enough that he could be heard. His cool grey eyes locked with Joffrey's until the youth averted his eyes. "Joffrey, as you are nearly a man grown, the choice is yours – death beside your mother and father, banishment alongside your siblings, or service with the Stormriders until you are old enough to take the black and join the Night's Watch."

* * *

A/N

I think I'll end this chapter here.

Dreamingfox


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Notes –

I did miss a sentence in the previous chapter so I had to go back and edit it again. The new version of the previous chapter should be up by now so please reread it.

* * *

Marach

The proceedings in the throne room made the air thick with tension as everyone eyed the former crown prince turned bastard. The boy would obviously choose to live, but would he keep his word and not rise up against the current king? The assassin doubted it. While he did not know the boy well, he knew that it would take much more than just a few short weeks of traveling with Ramza to change things. The real question was how Ramza would react.

"My Lord Hand," Joffrey finally said as he shook off Ramza's hold on his arm before dropping to a knee, "I must be honest - any fool would choose life, even one of servitude or exile over death. Yet whatever you believe of my uncle Tyrion, though I may not have the best relationship with him or the other man I thought to be my uncle, I would not want you to persecute him for something he is not guilty of."

All eyes were on the youth as the other Stormriders and Sandor Clegane stepped aside to give him room.

"I know not why you suspect him, though my uncle is a cunning and shrewd man, it was I who hired a man to kill your son Bran."

It was a bold admission that stunned all but a few Stormriders. Even Joffrey seemed surprised at his own honesty. Only the Hand looked away from Joffrey, his cool grey eyes darting from Tyrion Lannister to Lord Petyr Baelish.

"You would testify to that in court?" Tyrion finally asked, looking pained yet relieved at the same time.

Joffrey nodded, "I am testifying here and now."

A murmur arose amid the members of the Council but was quickly quieted when Lord Stark took his sheathed blade with his good hand and pounded the end against the stone floor in an effort to call for silence. "Joffrey has admitted his guilt in that affair, clearing his uncle Tyrion Lannister of those charges, yet the fact remains that he is charged with conspiring to kill the King."

"He did nothing of the sort," Jaime Lannister hissed. "The plan was Cersei' alone, though her hate for Tyrion is enough that she would not be above trying to see him killed along with us."

"The King has ruled that he is culpable and thus guilty," Eddard stated, silencing the Kingslayer, "just as he found the rest of you guilty."

"Did Tyrion actually raise a blade against the King?" Ramza asked, startling everyone. "Or was he merely implicated by the remaining knights who had taken up arms against the King?"

All watched as the Hand glanced back at the King, then turned to address the Stormrider. "He was implicated by the knights and Q – Cersei."

"Then you would take the word of known conspirators against a man who thus far has not committed any crimes against the crown?" His point was valid, though this King was not always known for making the most logical of decisions. He paused long enough to eye the other members of the council, prompting them to provide some incriminating evidence. "Have we not already heard the testimony that proved Tyrion's innocence in another matter? Is it not possible that he is not guilty of these charges as well? Would you trust the word of those you have already condemned? What if they named Lord Stark as a co-conspirator? Would you believe them again? Or Lord Baelish? Or Grand Maester Pycell? Who is to say that they are not simply naming the names of those that they wish to discredit or even killed?

"And would you condemn a man simply because of who he is related to? Are you that petty a king?"

"Enough!" the King roared as he sprang to his feet. Eying the blue eyed blond, Robert grit his teeth as he contemplated his options. "Lord Tyrion will be set free so that he can take his niece and nephew across the Narrow Sea. But only if he swears to never take up arms against House Baratheon, House Stark, and the Kingdom.

"Joffrey Rivers may remain with the Stormriders until he is of age to be considered a man, but once he comes of age he is to either take the black or you" he pointed to Ramza "shall put him down yourself. If you fail to do so I will rouse my armies and chase the Stormriders to the ends of the earth if need be.

"You may not take the Stormriders to the Westerlands – if any of the lords see your banner in the West or I even hear of your band contacting any of the lords, knights, or bannermen in the West I shall order your immediate execution. Do you understand me?"

Ramza knelt and bowed his head in acknowledgement.

"Loras," the King called out "I am in need of several loyal knights for my Kingsguard – would you take the White?"

The young knight seemed giddy at the prospect, bowing his head before dropping down to one knee, "It, it is an honor I cannot refuse."

"Good," Robert sighed. "I am in need of a new Queen, one that can provide me with an heir. Your first duty is to accompany Lord Renly to Highgarden.

"Ned, you will need to find the other three for my guard."

Marach grinned. He did not envy the Hand his duty. Four of the final five in the Melee had been Stormriders, and of the final ten six of them were now Stormriders, seven if Loras had been included. It was unlikely that the remaining Stormriders would opt to accept the white cloaks of the Kingsguard.

"Sandor," Ramza said as he turned to the big man, "we find ourselves short a man and as you are no longer needed in your capacity to guard a prince, would you care to join our troupe?"

The Hound eyed Ramza then grinned. "Why not? At least now I won't have to take orders from the runt."

* * *

Eddard

King's Landing was abuzz with the news of the Queen's attempted coup once the Stormrider's had left court. It had been a wonder that they had managed to keep word of the incident as long as they had, but now that it was out he knew that Tywin would soon act. War was coming, and even though he had Catelynn instruct the lords and bannermen in the north to prepare, they were preparing to defend, not march. It did not help that the Warden of the East had been Jaime Lannister, and that the lords were loathed to marshal their troops even as they sought to position themselves as the next Lord of the Vale.

Even with his duties as the Hand, he knew that there were other things that he needed to take care of.

"Lord Stark." Jory's voice echoed in the small chamber. "There is someone here to see you."

"Send him in," he said as he set the scroll he had been reading aside. Despite Lord Baelish's advice that he not trust anyone, Eddard knew that he could trust the Stormriders.

The sound of the door closing behind his guest was all he needed to know that the olive skinned youth had entered the room. "I owe you my life."

The hooded man shrugged, "It was Ramza's decision that we keep you safe. If it had been him there you would have been fine, though he probably would not have gone unnoticed by the rogue guards. Ramza believes you to be a man of honor, and the kingdom needs a man like you beside the king."

Unsure how to take the odd compliment, he nodded, before moving onto the matter at hand, "If I am to remain here, I need to be freed of my other responsibilities. As Sansa is no longer set to marry Joffrey there is no need for her to remain at court, and Arya, well, she wants to travel with the Stormriders even if Joffrey is to remain with you."

"You wish us to escort them to Winterfell?"

Eddard nodded, "Are you not headed north regardless of what the King has decreed?"

"We can take them," the hooded man stated.

"They are ready to leave now," he stated. "The Seventh Sister is set to leave on the evening tide."

* * *

Reis

They were near Runetown when the Seventh Sister rejoined the First Sister. Few ships dared to venture north this late in autumn as the winter storms made the sails useless. Strong arms manned the oars day and night, keeping the men warm and making them slip into sleep effortlessly as a result.

Needing more than just a night's rest both captains had agreed to stop in Runetown. The small, swift ships carried only enough provisions to be at sea for a few days, but the weather and season were against them.

Two days after departing Runetown found the Sisters in the Fingers. The captains rarely took their ships out of sight of the distant shores, but in passing by the Fingers they took the ships close to land before venturing towards the Three Sisters and the Bite.

"Leviathan!" the man in the crow's nest shouted in warning. Everyone on deck followed the youth's outstretched arm to the silvery blue mounds that breached the surf.

Straining her eyes, the dragonkin watched as the titanic creature made its way towards the sister ships. Reaching into her pack she slipped off her shoes only to replace them with the special shoes that Ramza had purchased for her.

All about her the men on the ship either took up arms or prepared the ship for an assault. Oars were being pulled in while giant bolts were being loaded into the gigantic crossbows.

Her shoes on, Reis leapt overboard, eliciting a startled gasp by some of the men near her. Gasps turned to cries of amazement as she floated mere inches over the churning surface.

"I'm coming too!" Alma's declaration caught the dragonkin by surprise. Beside her Ralpha also donned her floating shoes. Both girls jumped over the side of the ship, rushing to catch up to Reis.

On the Seventh Sister, Ramza and Beowulf mimicked the girls. A team of five would be enough to delay the beast should it want to fight, but it was a small enough force to make the beast consider the possibility of contracting with them.

Since leaving Runetown the dragonkin had been attempting to summon the Leviathan lord. Thus far their summons had proved fruitless, but the appearance of this leviathan had to be more than just a chance meeting.

North the dragon skulls had told her. North the Heart Trees had ordered her. And north was where she was now headed, and where she had found the Lord of the Seas.

* * *

Arya

The gentle rocking of the Seventh Sister did not suit her elder sister, making meals and sleeping had for Arya as she was forced to endure her sister's moaning and retching. The first few days out of King's Landing had been fine, but the choppy waters north of Runetown had made the last two days much more difficult for Sansa. It was not until the sister ships rounded on the Fingers that the waters became calmer, making things a bit easier for Sansa.

Without needing to tend to her sister's needs Arya had been free to resume her lessons with the water dancer. Syrio's lessons had increased in intensity as Arya became accustomed to the quickly increasing tempo of the swordmaster's attacks.

"Your attacks would only work if your opponent wears no armor," the Hound stated as he watched their practice.

Before either she or Syrio could reply a cry interrupted them. "Leviathan!"

All about them the crew of the ship rushed to prepare themselves though none onboard had ever faced such a beast. Some whispered that the scout in the crow's nest had merely seen a pod of whales. Yet all found their pace quickened as they scurried about the deck to secure their cargo and prepared for the worst.

"I never took you for a craven," the Hound remarked as he stood beside Beowulf.

"I am not," the swordsman replied.

"What good is removing your shoes?" the big warrior asked.

"The proper equipment can turn any battle," Beowulf stated as he slipped on a new pair of shoes. The soft leather boots had a small pair of feathered wings sown on by the ankle.

"The First Sister is closer," Ramza stated as he handed his pack to Cid. Like Beowulf the young fighter also wore the odd shoes.

It took Arya a second glance to realize that Ramza was not standing on the deck, but that he was floating over it. With the boots on he now came up to the Hound's shoulders where he had previously been a head short of that mark.

"It's a good thing we're faster," Beowulf grunted as he tossed Cid his pack as well.

Both men went over the side of the ship, startling several crewmen. The sight of them hovering above the surface they drew the attention of many. All watched as they rushed to join up with three figures that had parted with the First Sister.

At this distance they could tell that the row of humps that breeched the surface was not whales. Silvery blue scales each the size of a small buckler protruded from the beast, protecting it from any blade or arrow that might seek to injure it.

The five Stormriders were perhaps fifty paces from the heads of the sister ships when the leviathan reached them. The creature's massive head was nearly as large as the Seventh Sister though she could not see how big the rest of the creature was as much of it remained submerged.

"Never in my wildest dreams had I thought to lay eyes on such a beast," Syrio exclaimed. "I have heard tales of sailors encountering a leviathan, but none were near as large as this, and sailors are known for being boastful."

All eyes focused on the Stormriders and the leviathan. Neither side made any aggressive moves, though the beast lowered itself so it could get a better view of them.

"What are they doing?" Sandor demanded as he turned to Cid.

The old swordsman casually leaned against the railing. "They are coming to terms," he explained. "Powerful wizards can form pacts with magical creatures, but creatures this powerful often require contracts. The wizard agrees to provide a suitable feast or offering in exchange for being able to call upon the creature, in this case the leviathans."

"They can use magic?" Joffrey scoffed a remnant of his former self surfacing.

Cid nodded. "We all can, to some extent, some better than others."

"They say that it was magic that destroyed Valyria," Brienne stated as she joined the group.

"It's possible." Cid shrugged. "Magic can be powerful and destructive, but used right it can win a battle or even a war."

Turning to the group he eyed Arya. "Sandor is right; your technique is only good against those without armor. If you had a blade that could pierce any armor then such a style could be useful. But if you can find the weak spots in a man's armor you might be able to pierce through, though that would not kill them. On a battlefield it is almost useless, but if you were to sneak into a house at night or perhaps at a bar or tavern it might be useful."

Syrio scowled, but nodded. "We do not have as much steel in Braavos and most wear boiled leather rather than full plate mail."

Turning to eye Arya, Cid appraised her. "It's a good style to learn, but it's only one style of many that you should learn if you want to be a real swordswoman."

* * *

Marach

War was coming. It was something that all of the Stormriders had expected. But as in the War of Lions they were not going to play a role in the frontlines. Now as then they were going to serve the country and people, not the king.

Now as then Marach knew his role as the team's information broker. He was glad that Ramza never asked him to employ his particular set of skills beyond collecting information. While he called himself an assassin, Marach had yet to actually assassinate anyone since joining up with Ramza. He had not even been asked to interrogate anyone.

A lesser man would have asked him to simply assassinate Tywin Lannister, or his twin children, rather than risking the lives of tens of thousands on both sides. War was coming, and it would probably last longer than Ivalice's War of Lions. The Lannisters would be able to muster their troops even as the King and his host moved west, while Lord Renly would muster troops in Highgarden and the Reach before marching north. The Tullys in the Riverlands would muster their troops as well, though they would not move until the King's had reached Deepden. Word had even been sent to the Iron Isles so that their fleets could gather to prevent the Lannisters from drawing men from the coastal castles.

At best it would take five months for the King to march his host to Casterly Rock, but any fighting in the Westerlands would slow their march. It also relied on Pinkmaiden Castle holding while the King's host gathered. In theory the King could muster more troops than the Lannisters, but at what cost? The treasury was indebted to the Lannisters and thus lacked the funds to pay for a war.

Marach had his doubts. Yes, the odds were stacked in the King's favor, but not by much. The people of Westeros could not afford this war – both in terms of gold and the loss of lives.

That was why he was headed west. Ramza had not ordered him to do so, but he would have asked had he all the facts. That was why the Hand had asked.

Two days out from King's Landing had brought him to the Stone Sept, but the rest of the way was much more dangerous. Not only did they not know the lay of the land but by now the Lannisters and their bannermen would be on their guard against any possible advance scouts and other intruders. Leaving Rose and Bert to guard the King and the Hand, Marach traveled with Wilfrid and Pauline. Of all the Stormriders save Ramza, only the three of them were capable of short distance teleportation, though the bard and dancer were capable of limited flight as well. Teleportation was limited to line of sight and perhaps fifty paces, though only truly reliable at forty paces. Fortunately they did not need to teleport often, though it would help them cross the mountains unnoticed. Should they need to use the road they could pass as a bards and dancers easy enough. Still, this would be a hard trip.

* * *

Ramza

The remainder of the trip to Winterfell passed quickly as they departed White Harbor hastily before any word of their encounter with the leviathan king could spread beyond the city. A fierce autumn snow storm hindered them, yet the Stormriders were set to reach Winterfell in a day or two, making their entire trip from Storm's End little more than a fortnight.

The prisoners that Meliadoul and the girls had taken were also being trained, though it was Ramza's nightly talks with them that seemed to leave the greatest impression on them. Though he was often the most reserved member of the troupe when he spoke his words carried much weight, even with strangers. With Joffrey in tow he visited each of the prisoners, asking them about their lives, families, and why they had chosen the path they had taken. Then they spoke of the Night's Watch and their duties both as men and as citizens of Westeros.

"You really believe all that?" Joffrey asked as the walls of Winterfell appeared on the horizon.

Ramza nodded, "Of course I do. Every day I do what I believe is right. Sometimes my decisions are wrong, and sometimes they cost someone their life, but I never regret the choices I make.

"Doing what is right is not always easy, just like wielding a sword, but if you do it the right way long enough it becomes easy. Sometimes you stumble, but you have to choose to get back up. Laying down is easy, but what does it get you but dirty and perhaps kicked in the face? Getting up is hard, but at least you aren't laying down.

"Going to the Wall is not easy, but it will make them into better men. It is easier than dying, and not all who take the Black become rangers and fighters. The Night's Watch needs all manner of men – builders, stewards, and rangers. Most of them are skilled trackers and thus will become good Rangers. But a few of them are craftsmen and their skills are best suited as Builders.

"With my help you will become a ranger one day." Ramza eyed the other boy. "It is a hard path, but at least you are not dead."

"And if I were to run?" Joffrey asked.

"Then I'd kill you before you got twenty paces away." His tone was flat and emotionless. "It would be difficult, but it would be the right thing for me to do."

Setting his reins down he allowed the horse to lead them along the road. Grabbing his bow he notched it even as he kept his eyes on Joffrey. In a flash he had the bow drawn and the arrow flew over the startled head of several prisoners though the other Stormriders simply leaned to avoid the arrow. Kenneth and Temperance reached into their packs for throwing knives as they shifted in their saddles. A turkey gobbled in the brush even as the arrow pierced it and pinned it to the ground. "Arya, if Nymeria tries to take my turkey I will shoot her."

Two more turkeys rushed out of the brush each struck down by Kenneth and Temperance.

The younger Stark blanched. "Down girl," she barked as she tried to rein in her excited direwolf.

With the recent snow storm most of the animals had remained burrowed in their dens but now that the weather was better they were likely to be out foraging for food. Still, the storm had forced the group to use most of their reserves and the opportunity for some fresh meat this late in the season was too good to pass up.

"There is a rafter of turkeys behind those trees," Ramza stated as he nodded at the grove of trees near the turkey he'd shot. As one Kenneth and Temperance pulled out knives and tossed them into the brush.

"How did you know they were there when Nymeria didn't?" Arya eyed him even as the direwolves set off after the remaining turkeys.

"They're downwind of us," Ramza stated. "They caught our scent and started to react. I saw one moving while the wolves were sniffing the snow."

"But you barely aimed." Joffrey eyed him.

"Twenty paces," Ramza said. "I'd only have to aim once you moved past seventy five."

"Most don't make it past fifty," Kenneth noted as he quickly dismounted to collect the birds. "mycah, wanna help?"

"But we're almost to Winterfell," the youngest Stormrider objected.

Kenneth nodded. "The worst case scenario is that we get more for dinner, best case is that we add to our personal stock for the road. If the hunting is this bad now how bad could they be as we travel further north?"

Expertly he tossed Ramza and Temperance their respective kills.

"You want some you have to get your own," Ramza said as he caught the bird. "I doubt we'll get much in Winterfell and we don't have the coin for supplies."

Joffrey caught his meaning. "We're nearly at Winterfell."

"Then you'll have to work harder on your hunting skills once we leave there."

Their reception was mixed as the young castellan Rob Stark was glad to have his sisters back, but unhappy to have the person who had hired an assassin to kill his brother with them. The company of men at arms that stood guard about the audience chamber was proof enough that the Starks were not happy to have for former prince in attendance.

"Thank you for seeing us," Cid said as he led the Stormriders into their audience with the acting Lord of Winterfell.

"It is an honor to have you here." The young lordling had the same dark auburn locks and high chin that his mother had but tended to look more like Sansa than he did Arya. The look that he gave the Stormriders though was the same one that his father gave anyone who he was not happy with.

Ramza hated the formalities. As the bastard of Beoulve he had been brought up knowing the main rituals and shows of proper decorum yet those methods had never served him when he had tried to end the War of Lions. Still, he needed to play nice.

He waited for Cid and Beowulf to trade complements and pleasantries with the young Stark before finally focusing on the actual conversation. It was not that he felt it inconsequential but the men at arms interested him more. Each was armed with either a sword or spear though there were a half dozen archers standing along the wall behind the lord's elevated seat. Beside the young lordling stood a stiff but cocky young man with long bow to go along with the quiver of arrows he had over his shoulder. On the other side stood Catelynn Stark, the wife of the current Hand of the King and mother to the lordling. Her dark auburn hair was a few shades darker than Sansa's.

With Sansa and Arya returned the pair stood beside their mother and younger brothers. The youngest, a wild looking boy of perhaps five years, this one was obviously Rickard. The boy, Bran, was the one strapped into the chair. Of the children he and Arya were the only ones without a hint of auburn in their hair.

"My thanks for delivering my sisters back to us," Rob finally said as he grimly nodded to Cid.

The gruff veteran nodded, still slightly put off by the chilly reception. "I know that there is much animosity between your family and our charge, but if there is anything we could do"

"Can you make him walk?" Rob was bristling. "Can you make it so that he can climb like he once did?"

His icy glare stopped Cid in his tracks.

"Brother," Alma whispered as she kept her head down.

Ramza stood tall, locking eyes with Rob Stark. The lordling was perhaps as old as he was and held himself as befit a person of his station, yet regardless of whatever wrongs were committed against his family Ramza knew that the man's anger was not entirely justified. "We can heal your mother of her wounds," he finally said. "That is the price your mother paid for saving your brother's life. Your brother's injuries were not the result of what our companion did and for you to hold that against him shows that you truly do not deserve to be considered a man grown."

"Watch your tongue!" several of the men at arms shouted their displeasure.

Stepping forward Ramza held his hands out palms up, revealing that he had no ill intent. "Your father, the Hand of the King and the Warden of the North, charged us with delivering his daughters to Winterfell. If he did not trust our trainee or us he would not have asked. For you to behave in the manner you have thus far displayed shows to us that you are not half the man your father is. Perhaps we should have taken your sisters to Jon Snow instead. Bastard he might be, but I doubt that he would have given us as cold a reception as you have."

He would have said more, but he did not want to reveal that their swords had allowed the King and that Hand to keep their heads. "Our duty here is done. It is clear to us that you do not wish is to remain, so we shall leave. But know this, it is possible that we could have cured your brother – made it so that he could not only walk again, but run and climb as though nothing had happened. Before we might have done it because it was the right thing to do, but now" he glanced at Alma, Ralpha, and Reis "now it will cost you more than you can pay."

He had anticipated that the men at arms would reach for their blades, he had hoped that Rob would try to control the situation though it would probably be Lady Stark who did so, he had even expected Arya to speak up, but what he hadn't expected was that Sansa would speak up.

"Stop it!" her voice was commanding, drowning out the cries of the company of men at arms and knights that stood guard as well as her family members. Setting her hand on her brother's arm she held his gaze. "If you had seen what Arya and I had seen you would know that what he says is not a mere boast. They have powerful magic – powerful enough to summon a leviathan large enough to lay waste to White Harbor much less to the ships that we were on.

"Trust them," she urged. "Trust them as Father has trusted them."

"Sweet words," Ramza sighed as he turned away from the Starks. "But as I said, the price for our services is beyond anything that that your or he could pay."

Again the men guarding the room put their hands on their weapons waiting for an order.

"Tell y our men to stand down or they will not recall the rest of the day if they are lucky," Cid advised.

"We have a full company of men at arms," the man standing behind Rob stated.

"Lord Stark said you were a cocky man," Ramza said as he eyed Stark ward. "He never told me how stupid you were."

Theon Greyjoy visably chafed. "I know that we only used tourney blades in the Melee, but five of us took on three score of men. There a score of us here now. How do you think we would fair against a company of men at arms when five of us bested three score of knights? Not to mention that your own sister attested to the fact that we possess powerful magic. If we wanted to we could level Winterfell."

"Not before I put an arrow into you," Theon stated.

"Do try," Ramza dared him. He could hear Joffrey and Sandor step away from him. "I promise that the Stormriders will not retaliate against you so long as it is only one arrow."

"Theon," Rob cautioned.

Greyjoy smirked, "We shall see if he is a man of his word."

"I shall even make it easier," Ramza stated as he pulled a cloth from his pouch and bound his eyes.

Reaching for an arrow Theon stepped out from beside Rob. "Will you use your magic to deflect my arrow?" he teased as he took aim.

He heard the twang of the taunt bow string as it and the arrow were released. He heard the arrow whistling in the air. His honed reflexes brought his hand up to catch the shaft of the arrow. His other hand removed the cloth about his eyes. "See Joffrey," he said as he showed the former prince his prize, "If you could do this I would have to chase you down rather than wait for you to get thirty paces."

Joffrey paled.

Ramza turned to Theon, "I shall think of you every time I use this arrow to kill a turkey." Turning he reached to place the arrow into his quiver even as the other Stormriders began to turn.

"Wait," Catelynn Stark cried out.

Of course it would be the mother who spoke out. As Rob was not truly the Lord of Winterfell until his father passed the young lordling listened to her council while his father was away. And as the person with the strongest connection to Brann she would be willing to do the most for him.

"Wait," she said again, this time walking past Rob.

Ramza turned to Alma who turned to Reis and Ralpha before turning back to him and nodding. "As I said, it is possible, but the cost is more than you could afford."

"You say it is more than they can afford." It was the first that Bran had spoken up, but from what he said it was clear that he was far cleverer than his brother. "It is valuable, but more than even a lord could afford? Or is it something that the lord could not afford because it is something that he cannot give?"

Brann eyed Ramza.

"No," Rob said. He was starting to realize what the payment would be.

"It is my body," Bran replied. "I was the one who witnessed the treason and I paid for it. If I can pay to get them back then it is my choice."

Ramza eyed the boy for a moment before turning to Rob. "We will need a more private room. Reis will be in charge. We will need rooms for the night."

He could see Lady Stark shaking her head at her son.

With a nod to Beowulf he signaled for the others to leave. Taking Alma's hand he began to lead her out even as Beowulf did the same with Reis.

"Wait!" Rob finally cried out. "Sir Rodrick, see them to some rooms." He was struggling with how to address the commoners. "Master Snowstorm, could we discuss the terms?"

Ramza nodded to Cid, "In private."

The Lordling of Winterfell dismissed the men at arms save for Theon Greyjoy even as Cid lead all of the Stormriders out save for Ramza, Beowulf, Joffrey, Reis, Alma and Ralpha.

"Why does he need to go with you?" Rob asked once everyone else was out of the room.

"If this works," Reis replied, "it is because he has strong magical powers. When it works he will need to learn how to use magic or it might burn him from the inside out."

"Magic?" Theon scoffed. "It might be one thing for a girl to believe in the tales of magic and"

As one the Starks turned to where Theon had been standing only to find a toad in his place.

"Do you believe in magic now?" Alma asked as she pointed at the slimy creature.

"Do not get on Alma's bad side," Ramza cautioned Joffrey. The youngster was stunned to say the least. Turning to his sister he shook his head, "I believe that is an adequate display."

"You should back away from him," Reis advised as she threw a potion over the transformed man. Seeing him turn back she eyed Alma.

"What? Did you want me to hit him with a flame spell or would you have preferred a blizzard?" the girl shrugged. "Or a summons? More effective but I don't think that they would have liked us bringing down the bulding."

Ramza and Cid shook their heads.

"What is wrong with her?" Joffrey hissed.

Ramza shrugged. "She doesn't get out much."

"You baby her too much," Cid countered. "I say have her go out on some patrols."

* * *

A/N

I'll leave things here for now.

Dreamingfox


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note –

And this is the chapter where the fic starts to earn its rating.

Still trying to not mistype character's names. I guess that's why Martin is using such an old computer. Damn spell-check.

* * *

Marach

The feel of the bloody, raw flesh felt surprisingly slimy as the former assassin bit into the freshly killed rabbit. It was not the first time that he ate the tiny mammal raw, nor would it be the last. Crossing the mountains of the Westerlands was not easy, but he knew that lighting a fire was out of the question. Pauline had spotted two patrols that day as she slipped through the treetops. Wilfrid had spotted fresh tracks from another patrol and nearly encountered another one after dawn.

Keeping to the rocks as much as possible they spent the last few days moving in tandem, teleporting in turn into the brush, behind trees or into sturdy branches. They had camped in the trees as well to avoid a chance encounter with the shadowcats, wolves, and bears that caught the scent of their kills.

Wiping away the blood from his mouth Marach kept his eyes and ears focused, ready to detect anything that might suggest that they were not alone. Ramza was busy with his own concerns in the north, but the fact that he had not checked in with Bert and Rose in days meant that the ninjas could not relay any messages from Ramza to him.

The gentle rustling of boiled leather boots stepping on dry dead leaves caught Marach's attention. It was loud enough to wake the bard and dancer as well, their training kicking in. Though trained in the music arts, they were also skilled ninjas, geomancers, and lancers along with a handful of other job classes.

Clouds obscured the moon, leaving the night dark and full of shadows.

His eyes adjusted to the dim light, but he knew better than to rely on just his eyes. He counted six sets of booted feet. Listening he turned to the origin of the steps. They were coming from the south-west, marking them as likely Lannister men. 'Or poachers,' he mentally added.

The sound of chainmail rubbing against hardened leather soon corrected him. Poachers were not likely to wear chainmail even when hunting bear or boar. Pulling out a makeshift weapon made to mimic a shadowcat's paw he put it over his right hand before drawing out a pair of shadowcat's fangs. If this patrol was to die they would have to appear to have been killed by a cat or bear, not at the hands of man.

They waited for the patrol to move past them, making sure that there were only six of them and no more. The men stopped around the trees that the three Stormriders were hiding in, though not perfectly around them. They were spaced five paces or so away from each other, providing the Stormriders with more than adequate room to strike.

In an instant the three Stormriders vanished only to appear behind their designated targets. As one the trio struck. Marach raked his man's stomach with the fake paw just between his chainmail shirt and pants. Before the man could even cry out in alarm or pain Marach jammed the twin fangs into the man's jaw, clamping his mouth shut and sending a spray of blood into the air.

At this range he needed not teleport. Picking up his downed opponent's blade he tossed it at the man to his right. The blade struck true, piercing the man's face as he turned to his now dead companion. He could hear the man's skull fracture as the force of the hilt destroyed his face even as the point of the sword exited through the other side of his head.

The kills were quick and silent; none had been able to let out a cry of alarm. Six men were not likely to have come this far into the woods afoot. They had to be part of a larger party. They would have to hope that the stray shadowcats in the area would dispose of the bodies.

Teleporting back into the trees they continued their trek west. Casterly Rock was less than three days away, but the patrols had increased in number.

* * *

Reis

Bran was a ball of energy, keeping the dragonkin occupied as they prepared to leave Winterfell. Between climbing the buildings, running off with his direwolf Summer, and trying to join in on the swordplay he was doing little to focus on the magical lessons. Still, he needed to learn the basics before he could master the mystical arts.

Another fierce blizzard was upon them and the rumors of a terrible monster roaming the Wolfswood kept the troupe from departing from Winterfell. With Rob Stark called upon to marshal the Lords of the North for the King, he had requested the aid of the Stormriders in dealing with the mysterious beast that stalked the Wolfswood.

It was no surprise that Ramza offered to help. He had always been the type of man to help everyone in need. It was how he had encountered Beowulf and Reis after all. Other members of the troupe had been asked to assist in other jobs that needed to be done around Winterfell. Gendry remained with Winterfell's smith, learning the trade from another master while the group took on other jobs.

Ramza, Joffrey, Sandor, Meliadoul and her trainee Katia formed one team while Reis, Alma, Bran, Beowulf, and Mycah comprised the other. Both teams moved through the Wolfswood less than a day's travel from each other. The addition of the Starks' direwolves to their small teams helped them pick out the scents and trails of the wildlife and allowing them to travel further each day.

Unlike the Kingswood, Reis did not need to sneak away to plant weirwoods as there were several groves of them that radiated untapped power. Selecting the largest in each grove she called a halt so that she could transform them into a godswood.

Summer bristled as he stood beside Bran's mount, warning their group of the presence of a half dozen people.

"Hello there," Bran called out, acting the part of the young lordling. With his elder brother Rob off to deal with the Boltons and Hornwoods he should have been the acting lord of Winterfell, instead his acceptance into the Stormriders placed that distinction on his younger brother, though it was Sansa who played hostess.

Four men, a boy and a girl stood before them. Each was dressed appropriately for the weather and all but the boy were armed with short tridents and nets wrapped about their other arm.

"Hello," the girl returned. "We are from House Reed. I am Meera Reed, and this is my brother Jojen Reed, heir to our house."

"I am Bran Stark," the boy stated as he pulled his mount forward. "How is it that you have come this far already when the summons was just sent."

"Is that a direwolf?" the boy Jojen asked as he stepped towards Summer. Holding his hand out in a non-aggressive motion he cautiously approached the direwolf. "I've never seen one before."

Curiously, Summer matched the boy's steps, moving forward to sniff at his offered hand.

Suddenly Jojen turned to Reis. "We are not here because of the summons, though we will go to Winterfell. We are here because I dreamt that you would be here, and here you are."

She could feel the boy's aura, and while it was not as powerful as Bran's, it was more powerful than Arya's. But what was significant was that his aura suggested that he had been trained in this world's magical arts.

"You came here to turn this weirwood into a godswood, did you not?"

She nodded.

"You are planning to head north of the wall, are you not?"

This time she hesitated, though it was Beowulf who nodded instead.

"I wish to go with you," Jojen stated. "Not as a Stormrider, but as someone who can learn as much from you as you can from me."

* * *

Arya

Winterfell had changed much since she had departed it months ago. Her father had taken many of the best men south with him to King's Landing but Rob had made an effort to promote those that remained.

Fortunately Rodrik Cassel had remained as the Master of Arms needed to train a new batch of men at arms and guardsmen. Unfortunately it appeared that the new men were lacking in ability as the handful of new recruits that the Stormriders had taken on were regularly besting the new guards and men at arms.

Cid oversaw their recruits, motioning a member forward while Sir Rodrik picked one or two of his men in turn. While the Stormriders held their own, it was clear that the Winterfell men were not happy. Loses to Brienne of Tarth, Walder Vance, Alyn Haigh, or the hedge knights were acceptable as each had earned the distinction of being knighted, but Katrusia, Anya, and Brea had no prior experience with swords and had recently been training in a whore house.

Beside her, her mother fussed, dismayed at the inability of the Winterfell men against the girls and at the fact that a good number of the Stormriders were girls. Arya knew that her father had withheld the fact that he had hired a water dancer to instruct her, and it was clear why. While her mother was pleased that Arya could fend for herself, she was not happy that her youngest daughter had taken up something so unlady-like.

"They are improving," she heard Temperance say as the dragoon and large knight approached the field.

Kenneth nodded. "It is good that we have time to actually practice and not just throw ourselves into a battle. Still, it's good that the girls bloodied themselves in the Kingswood. Ramza was right about them; they are quick learners and should as the hedge knights soon."

Throwing a glance at the handful of prisoners behind him he looked them over. "It is good that you kept a few of them alive though."

"They surrendered peacefully," the dragoon shrugged. "It would have been a slaughter otherwise."

Her mother put a hand on her shoulders before taking a step away from the Stormriders.

"Why do you follow him?" Arya spoke up and took a step towards the pair of warriors. Both Stormriders turned to the young Stark and her mother. "Master Orlandeau speaks for the Stormriders, but Ramza leads – but why do you follow him?"

The raven haired Kenneth eyed her. "He has led us through much, and never asks us to do anything that he is not willing to do himself."

She could tell that there was something unsaid, but the answer had been straightforward and honest.

"He is like your father," Temperance added. "If he believes someone is to be executed than he will be the one to do so. He does not take us into a fight lightly, and he values and treats us all as equals. He east with us, cooks with us, shares his food with us, and does everything with us. How many lords do you see doing that with their men?"

"But he is no lord," her mother stated, her hands still on Arya's shoulders.

"He is not," Kenneth agreed. "He is better than a lord. We do not fight for glory or honor, we possess no lands and there are no lords that we are bound to – yet when Ramza sends us onto the field we know that he does so because he knows it is the right thing to do and not because we have something to gain from it.

"I admit Lord Eddard Stark is a fine lord. He considers his the people that are bound to him and his lands, and he does not take them lightly. But I would rather follow Ramza.

"Gendry," he said as he turned away and called out to his trainee, "it is time we visit the smith."

The powerful boy rushed to the knight's side hauling his armor and weapons.

Behind her, her mother stiffened as she eyed the boy.

"What's the first rule," Kenneth asked as he eyed the raven haired youth. He was nearly as old as Sansa, but as tall as Rob but with a more powerful build. The way he carried his weapons and armor suggested that he bore the weight without much regard.

"Always be prepared and keep my armor on," Gendry replied. "I was working on my armor so I could not wear it."

"We need to get you another set of armor then," the big knight stated. "Do you have the materials?"

"I get to make my own set?"

"Only if you can convince Winterfell's master blacksmith to use his forge," the large man replied with a playful pat to the boy's shoulder. "You will have the distinction of being the only Stormrider to make your own armor. I just hope it holds up. I will show you which runes to add to keep a dragon from melting you to slag, and to survive being struck by lightning."

Gendry paused, staring at his mentor. "You can do that?"

"You really though I was serious?" Kenneth asked as he put his arm around the boy. "I'd have to be a master smith for at least a decade to know how to do that. I can only show you what I know. Mayhap when we see Wilfrid he could show you what you need to do."

Arya watched them go.

"You will not be going with them," her mother informed her, letting go of her shoulders.

"But they're only going to the Wall,' Arya shot back. "You heard them say that they were going to be coming back."

"Yes, they are coming back in a few months." Her mother stood firm.

"Lady Reis says that I have the gift too," Arya pleaded. Her mother stiffened. "I'm older than Bran and I won't be staying with them, I'll just go with them to the Wall and back. Someone should go with him. Rob needs you here to help Sansa, and Ricken needs you here too. I can go with Bran and make sure that he'll be alright."

"The Wall is no place for a girl to be, especially for a few months much less for a winter. Perhaps when they come back," her mother repeated. It was the same argument that she had used each time Arya had suggested that she travel with the Stormriders. "If Master Forel believes that you are capable then you might be able to go with them to King's Landing in the spring."

Arya scowled. She knew that her mother would never allow her to leave with the Stormriders. Though she loved all of her children, her mother's ideas of duty to family meant that Arya and Sansa, if not all of her children save for Bran, would be used to increase the standing of the Starks and Winterfell, just as her own fate had been tied to first House Tully and now House Stark. As such it would never do for Arya to take up the sword, not when she was more useful as a wife somewhere else.

There was also the fact that her mother was a faithful follower of the Seven. Having witnessed the healing of Bran though had shaken her to her core. The strange ritual and especially the display of magic that Alma and Rapha had performed was beyond anything that her mother had ever witnessed.

But she was not alone. Theon Greyjoy, the victim of a short lived spell, was terrified as well. Word of his transformation into a frog had spread like wildfire. Though Winterfell was one of the largest keeps in the North, it was significantly smaller than White Harbor or any of the port cities.

Some of the men attributed their losses on the practice field to the Stormriders' magic, though their recruits were trained only in the physical arts. Still, Kenneth's casual jests to Gendry about enchanting their armor did give Arya pause.

* * *

Eddard

King's Landing was a flurry of activity as King Robert Baratheon summoned the lords loyal to him. After a fortnight a third of the lords from the East and South had gathered with word that more would meet the King's Host once he was on the Goldenroad. Loras Tyrell and Renly Baratheon had sent word from Highgarden that they had come to an accord in regards to a marriage to Margaery Tyrell and the King. Their marriage would solidify the King's forces and legacy though Eddard had his doubts.

Since the departure of his daughters the Tower of the Hand had been empty and cold. His duties as the Hand of the King kept him busy each night as he helped his lord and friend plan the march against Tywin Lannister and Casterly Rock. He was glad that Sansa and Arya had not remained in King's Landing. They had complained enough about his inability to sup with them at night or breakfast with them in the morning. He had thought that he had been busy then, but now with the kingdom on the verge of war he was far busier.

The Kingdom had gone broke under Robert, and now that they were preparing for war he was having a hard time finding the coin to pay for the weapons and supplies that the King's Army needed.

"How is your arm?" Robert's booming voice filled the unusually empty throne room.

Absently Eddard rubbed at his still healing forearm. The cut that he'd taken in the fight with the rogue Kingsguard was slowly healing. The wound had been deep, severing muscle so that he could not grip Ice properly. Had he not worn his grieves he knew that he would have lost his hand completely if not more. "It is healing," he replied. "By the time we reach Casterly Rock I shall be able to cut down any who dare to defy you."

He could not help but recall the night of the failed assassination. The rogue Kingsguard had caught him by surprise when he had met with Rob and Lord Renly in secret to reveal the reason why Jon Arryn had been killed. It was only by chance that he had kept his grieves and Ice with him after meeting with his own men, though it was the interference by the hidden Stormriders that had saved all three of their lives.

In truth he did not like having to use them, but he liked using the Spider even less. At least Marach followed an honorable man, even if some of their methods were less than savory. He trusted them to deliver Sansa and Arya safely to Winterfell and to keep Joffrey from trying to claim what the boy might have thought was rightfully his, but there was much more to them than what they let on.

He could not help but clutch Ice's hilt as he scanned the nearly empty throne room. None of the members of the small council were present, though the three remaining members of the Kingsguard were.

"I know how you feel," Robert stated. Beside the Iron throne the King kept his trusted Warhammer well within reach should he need it. The once polished weapon had a thick layer of dust on it as the king had last pulled it out prior to the Melee that Ramza Snowstorm had won to honor the Hand. Now it was looking battered and in need of a decent polishing as the King had taken to training in earnest. "But that is not why I called you here."

Eddard nodded even as he approached the throne.

"I fear that this war will be my last," Robert sighed. "You were right to tell me that I was too fat to participate in the Melee, but I will need to be part of this war. I am not the man I once was and all it takes is for one moment of weakness or one mistake for one of the upstart knights to end my reign. We both know that it was the Stormriders that allowed us to keep our heads, but I doubt that they can protect us that well once we are on the march.

"I love my brothers, but I fear that should I pass without an heir they will tear the kingdom apart. Stannis is a proud man, and he has done much for me in the past, but I know that he resents his placement as the Lord of Dragonstone. Renly is loved by many, but too many in his court are far too ambitious for my liking."

Eddard nodded. He was not surprised that the King did not get along with his brothers despite having appointed both to their own titles. Lord Stannis had a daughter while Lord Renly had yet to take a wife, leaving both without legitimate heirs to the Baratheon name.

"I wish to name an heir," Robert finally said, his mood surprisingly somber and grave. "You must understand this heir is only to take the throne should I not father a son with Margaery."

He nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. Only the King could legally have a lord's bastard child legitimized, and Robert had many. "Are you sure of this my lord?"

"I am not," Robert admitted. "But I fear that it might be necessary. If word of this leaks out it may well spark a war between my brothers, but they are likely to war should I not leave a clear heir."

"But Stannis is your heir."

Robert nodded, "He is, but should he or Renly fall then who would continue the Baratheon name? A month ago I had two sons, but now I find myself with none. I may still have it in me to father more, but with this pending war… I want you to rule as Regent until my heir is old enough to rule and to stay on as his Hand. Make him into a better king than I have been."

"You will father many sons," he said, comforting his friend.

"Aye, I shall, but it will be a long time before they can rule. I want you to watch over them and guide them. Mace is an ambitious man, but it is his mother Olenna that worries me. The Queen of Thorns is said to be just as conniving as Cersei. If Margaery is even a quarter of what her grandmother is than I fear for any children we would have. I told you I did not trust Cersei, but I do not think I can trust the Tyrells either."

Sighing, Eddard accepted his king's decision. "Should you not find a good steward to care for Edric then? Shall I find some trustworthy knights to send to Storm's End?"

The King waved his idea off even as he stepped down from the dais. "Edric does have noble blood, but I fear that sending men to Storm's End might alert Renly. No, I wish for Gendry to be my heir."

That gave Eddard pause. "My lord?"

"You saw the boy - he looks as I do when I was his age."

Though he had met the boy twice it was clear that he was Robert's son. The two times that he had seen the boy it was clear who his father was even if the boy failed to recognize it. That he rode with the Stormriders though complicated things. "But all the Stormriders have sworn off any noble claims."

Dark curls bobbed as the king nodded. "Only those of age can be a Stormrider, and he is not yet a man grown. Even they cannot ignore a royal decree. I hope that it will not come to that. I know that you trust them, and that they return that trust. Please speak with them about this."

"Then you want me to speak with them before you draft your decree?"

Rob shook his head, "I have drafted it already to await your seal. I trust that you will deal with the Stormriders."

* * *

Ramza

The flickering light of the fire illuminated the tiny camp as the Stormriders settled in for the night. From his vantage point he couldn't see the distant fire used by the other camp further to the south, but he could see the smoke. The signal that they sent was not that they had found the beast, but that they were returning to Winterfell.

"They're sending you a signal?" The big man sat furthest from the fire, a telling distain for its warmth another reminder of the burn that he had suffered as a youth.

Ramza nodded. "They must have encountered some travelers."

They stood there in silence, both eyeing the horizon until finally, "What I don't get is if your magic is that powerful, why not just lay waste to everyone who stands against you?"

A smirk curled his lips, "Magic is useful, but its effectiveness varies. Steel is reliable and as long as your sword arm is good you can trust it. But magic is capricious – erratic. The results can be devastating and at times miraculous but they can also be underwhelming. Simple spells to create fire, ice, or lightning are effective, but not always as effective as a sword. That is why they used the potion to cure Theon instead of using a spell to cure."

"There are potions that can cure those things?"

"Some things can be cured with a potion, but sometimes it takes magic to cure magic." He eyed the other man. Sandor was perhaps as tall as Kenneth but had much more muscle mass than the young Fell Knight. "Your wounds are too old for us to cure and magic would only heal your physical wounds."

"What can you do with magic?"

"Kill the dead and make sure that they stay dead," Ramza answered.

"You can kill the Others?"

"They hate fire," he stated. "Magic works well against them." He had not fought against the Others of Westeros, but he had fought his fair share of undead in Ivalice. "Turning them into undead frogs works too."

Sandor grinned. "Have you really?"

"Once or twice… maybe more. Magic is unpredictable, that's why there are undead. Something had to bring the dead back, and now there are Others. The Wall is enchanted, that is why none of the Others comes south."

"You want to see the Wall to see how powerful the magic in it is," Sandor concluded.

"He wants to go there because he would rather serve as a Crow," Meliadoul's voice interjected. "Ramza wishes to simply serve, but with the rest of us following him he knows that we cannot go. The Night's Watch does not accept women, and there are many women in the Stormriders so we cannot take the black. If he takes the black then the rest of us have nowhere to go.

"I may not have been with them all from the beginning, but I know that the others would be lost without him. Ramza is their rock, he is our moral compass. That is why even Cid and Beowulf are willing to follow him regardless of where he leads us.

"We go to the Wall because Ramza does not want to fight about who should be king. At the Wall we can still serve the Kingdom without involving ourselves in the war. That some of us are curious about its magic is merely an added benefit."

"If I had run, would Alma have turned me into a frog or are there other things she could turn me into?" Joffrey asked from his furs.

"Frogs are most common," Meliadoul replied. "Alma has just been itching to use her magic and that was the first chance she had to use it. But don't worry, if you want, we can turn you into a frog."

"Be careful around the girls," Ramza cautioned Sandor. "Magic usually affects an area. When you target a person you tend to target the area around them too. If you're too close to an opponent who has been targeted you might get hit. Though if your opponent knows how to use magic then you have to be careful."

"Were you going to teach us to use magic?" Katia asked as she also joined in on the conversation.

Ramza glanced at Meliadoul, "How long into your training did you wait to learn magic?"

"Six months," the former Templar replied. "You?"

"Our training got cut short so we learned in the field," Ramza answered. "A month into field training and Kenneth started practicing, but it took us three months for most of us to start training in magic. We only learned battle magic and basic healing magic in the field. Only a select few can do what Meliadoul, Beowulf and Cid can do with a blade and magic."

"At the Melee"

Ramza shook his head, cutting off Joffrey. "That would not have been honorable. Besides, we were fighting several score at once; there was no time for us to cast any magic when we were so focused on fighting. Like I said, magic affects an area not just a single target. If we had used magic in the Melee dozens would have fallen in an instant with no blade striking them – that would have caught someone's eye."

"But Greyjoy was standing beside Rob Stark," Joffrey remarked as he thought back on their reception.

Ramza shook his head, "He'd moved five paces to the side so that he might catch me unawares when he shot at me with his bow. He was still several paces away from anyone when Alma spelled him."

"That thing you did with the arrow"

"Most of us can do that," Ramza finished. "If any of us has a bow in hand we'll even shoot the arrow back at you."

The big man eyed him then asked, "How many men have you lost?"

"As a result of battle, none," he replied. "That does not mean that we have not retreated or lost battles; merely that we knew when to run. As I told Joffrey, we only fight when it is necessary and unavoidable. Unfortunately we find ourselves fighting vary frequently. I've lost track of how many battles we've been in.

"We left a few behind though. They decided that this was not the life for them and they had family"

"You mean they wanted to start a family," Meliadoul smirked. "Everyone knows that Mustadio had his eye on Agrias."

Ramza smirked, "I remember how hard of a time he had finding that rouge he finally gave her."

Turning his gaze to Katia, Joffrey, and then to Sandor he sat straight in his furs, "We are a small band, but we always support each other. We do not leave a man or woman behind. We share our glory and our misery, but as long as we are together we are never alone."

Slowly the others began to nod off, his words echoing in their minds and perhaps dreams. "I'll take first watch," he finally said to Meliadoul.

"I know," the brunette replied as she leaned against him. Resting her head against his armored shoulder she smiled gently, "Wake me when it is my turn."

* * *

Radd

A chill wind rustled the snowdrifts within Winterfell. The cold reminder of the approaching winter stayed with the Stormrider as he and Walder Vance made his way through the vast open yard of the ancient northern castle. Ramza had insisted that each of the original Stormriders pair up with a trainee because the way that the Stormriders operated was very different than how squires and knights were trained in Westeros.

Spectators had balked at the Stormrider's tactics in the Melee but they had been impressed with the results. Rather than standing back to back or shield to shield each fighter controlled a space roughly five paces by five paces, more if their weapons were significantly longer such as the spears or staves/poles. Their trainees were still learning to handle their weapons, but the girls had at least learned that tactic, though it was easier for them as only Brienne had previous weapons training.

"Should armor not feel solid and heavy?" Walder's question reflected the Westeros' ideal of weapons and armor. Thick platemail would be heavy, but the armor that the Stormriders favored was as light and flexible as chainmail but protected just as well as full mail.

"Heavy armor as you know will keep you pinned down," Radd explained. "You need something lighter so that you can move around in to avoid your enemy's blades. If you stay still it is more likely that your opponent will be able to hit you, but if you can move around it is harder for them to hit you.

"We have you keep your armor on all day because you need to feel comfortable in it as well as to get used to the weight. Do you not feel lighter on your feet when you aren't wearing armor?"

The boy's light brown hair dripped with sweat despite the chill air. It was clear that he was still not used to the mail, but had he been wearing a full suit of Westeros mail he would likely have passed out hours ago. "Yes," he panted.

Of their new members only Walder Mycah had not developed the endurance needed to wear full mail all day, though both did have the nimble fingers that a chemist and mage needed. Each day that they were not on a job the recruits were forced to take long walks with their mentors. The marches were a sore spot for all of the trainees, though the score of prisoners found it entertaining during the week long trek from White Harbor. While the Stormriders who remained in Winterfell were tasked with various jobs, the mentors and their trainees often took long walks after dinner and before first watch.

"You'd look a mite prettier without that on." The gruff voice carried by the wind reached their ears.

Given the hour it was not unusual for the men of Winterfell to be out at this hour. Like the Stormriders this was the time of day when they were free to loaf around.

"Why are you girls playing at being knights?" another voice asked.

Radd's pulse quickened as he realized the situation. While it was uncommon for women to take up the blade in Ivalice, it was not as rare as it was in Westeros. Agrias and Meliadoul were prime examples of that. Hell, nearly half of the Stormriders were women. What was really surprising though was the attitude that many men had about women and their "place" or "role" in battles, or after battles as the men in Westeros seemed to think.

What worried the mercenary was not the wellbeing of the women – they had been trained to deal with such situations – but should they injure some of the Winterfell men at arms things would get messy. Tensions were already high as they were. Men such as Theon Greyjoy resented being constantly shown up by the female Stormriders, especially the trainees. To make up for their impotence on the field or pitch they often tried to make up for it at night as they attempted to hound the girls.

Radd mentally reprimanded himself for not talking to Cid about ensuring that the men and women of the troupe needed to go out on their walks together.

"Did I hit your head too hard today?" The woman's question reached his ear. Though it was far lighter than the men's voices it held enough malice to signify that the woman did not want the company of the men who had approached her.

'Katruisa,' Radd thought as he placed her voice. 'She must be with Anya and Brea if she is not with Temperance.'

"You only bested us because of your sorcery," another man's voice proclaimed. "There is no way that we could lose to the likes of you in a fair fight."

"So this is what you think is a 'fair fight'?" That was Anya. Her usually honeyed tongue had previously been employed to sooth and relax the men that visited her yet her keen mind and sharp tongue had become less repressed under Temperance and Kenneth's instruction. "Twelve to three – that leaves us with four a piece, not enough to keep us entertained."

"Yeah," that was definitely Brea. The slender dancer had masterful footwork, slipping outside of her opponent's attack range and then quickly rushing in once they were exposed or unbalanced. "The way they handle their swords you'd think they would spend their time practicing with Sir Rodrik instead of trying to get lessons from us."

"Oyh, you're the one interrupting us," another man shouted.

"Yeah, twelve on one," Anya shot back.

Radd's footsteps came quicker even as he threatened to leave Walder behind. "Hurry up!" he urged the boy. "Or I'll have you walking all the way to the Wall!"

That got the boy's feet moving.

"Twelve on one," Brea repeated. "Guess she's too much of a woman for them to handle one at a time."

"I'm more than man enough to handle any woman." It came as no surprise to Radd that Theon Greyjoy had been part of the group. There was something about the Ironmen that seemed to suggest that they viewed women as human chattel. "I hear that the three of you used to work the whore houses in King's Landing. I guess the Stormriders like their women to look like men. Mayhap we should be glad that they aren't here to try and have a go at us."

"We might be manlier men than you lot," Katrusia interjected "but do not hold that against us. We can't help that the only solid thing about the Ironmen is their name."

"I heard that the only way the men in the north get their pricks hard is to freeze it," Anya's sharp tongue cut into the north men's pride like a finely honed blade.

"Why don't we show these whores what we can do with our swords," Theon urged the men on.

Radd rounded the corner of a building. He was still a ways off from the stables, but he could see the crowd of men as they tried to encircle the three Stormriders.

"Enough!" Everyone outside of the stables froze in their tracks as Winterfell's Master of Arms walked around the corner of the stable. Beside him was Cid's massive form, a skin of wine in his hand. "This is no way for men of the North to behave." Sir Rodrik eyed his men at arms while they averted their eyes. "This might be how Ironmen treat their women, but we do not do things that way in Winterfell. If your cock has an itch than take yourself to a brothel to get it scratched. There's plenty of time before you have to be back for first watch so get going."

The men quickly responded, each saddling a horse quickly and setting off for the brothel. Only a few men remained, one of them assisting the wildling woman out of the stables before tending to the remaining horses.

"Cid, Sir Rodrik," Radd greeted as Walder caught up to him. "Katrusia, Brea, Anya."

The girls nodded in greeting even as a winded Walder returned the gesture.

Cid offered a slight bow as well before he turned to Sir Rodrik. "Your men lack discipline."

The Master of Arms reluctantly nodded in agreement. "I apologize for their unseemly behavior."

"Do not apologize to us," Katrusia said as she walked over to the wilding woman.

The mercenary remembered hearing of the chained woman. The heavy chains about her ankles were meant to weigh her down should she ever decide to run, a punishment for associating with rogue crows running from the Night's Watch and attempted kidnappers and killers. The lone survivor of the group she had surrendered and willingly served the acting lord of Winterfell even while being chained and apparently being raped by the youths training to be men at arms.

"We came to check on our horses but ran into those scoundrels," Anya explained. "They weren't happy with the fact that we've been handing them their asses in training and appeared to be taking it out on the wildling woman."

"No more training sessions with their men at arms," Radd suggested. "If things are bad now, imagine how things will be at the Wall where they don't see women at all."

"He's right," Cid seconded. "I know you girls can handle yourselves, but the Starks already dislike us, what would it look like if you seriously injured them?"

"We should just leave," Anya stated.

"We sill," the gruff veteran replied. "We just need to wait for Ramza and the others to return and for everyone else to finish their jobs. As important it is for you to get some field training, it's just as important for you to complete those jobs so that you can gain experience in using your training."

"What we're teaching you isn't just to make you better fighters," Radd interjected. "It's about making you better people. You'll learn to maintain your armor and weapons so that you don't have to rely on a smith all the time. You'll learn that your words as well as your actions can start battles and maybe wars, but they can also end them.

"Being strong isn't just about making sure that everyone else knows that you are strong, it's about knowing when to use your strength and when not to. Just because you know how to use a sword does not mean that you use it all the time. Would you use a sword to cut your dinner? Or a staff to fix your horse's shoe?" The girls shook their heads. "There is a time and place for everything and just because you can do something does not mean that you should."

"But they were forcing themselves on her," Katrusia reiterated as she pointed at the wildling woman.

"It is nothing new," the woman shrugged. "They normally don't come at me like that, usually just one or two of them, usually separately, pull me aside. I don't mind so much, they aren't rough or anything, but since your lot came here…."

Radd eyed the girls and knew what she was inferring. "The point of training with the men at arms is not to show them how good you've gotten, but to learn from them. Learn their tactics, their styles and their techniques; not beat them bloody. If we were to get new recruits could you instruct them on how to properly use a sword or how to spot the weaknesses in your opponent's armor? What have you done other than beat up some men who have less sword training than you?"

Appropriately reprimanded he nodded at the stables. "Tend to your mounts."

The four trainees did so, rushing into their respective mounts.

"I shall see to the wildling," Sir Rodrik stated, leading the girl away and leaving him with Cid.

"You make a good Ramza," Cid jested. "All you need is his good looks and blue eyes."

* * *

A/N

I think I'll leave things there for now.

Dreamingfox


	8. Chapter 8

Jon

In the short time that he had been at Castle Black Jon had never seen the keep so busy. When he had taken the vows and placed in the Stewarts there had been just over three hundred Black Brothers, but in a fortnight their numbers had swollen by another hundred as the senior wandering crow Yoren had returned from King's Landing with over a hundred prisoners willing to take the black in exchange for their lives, and another score of boys who had been willing to sacrifice their lives so that their families could receive five gold dragons.

Though he was the bastard son of a noble lord, Jon knew that a typical family would be fortunate to see one dragon in a generation and that five could ensure that two or three generations would not starve. The fact that it was not a lord but a troupe of sellswords that had not only captured the hundred bandits but used part of their winnings from the Hand's Tourney and Melee to encourage families to move to the Gift had been surprising. It also meant that the Night's Watch had much to do.

Rangers had been sent out to hunt for more food, builders sent to repair the once abandoned castles, and stewards to tend to ensure that the castles and the men could run effectively and to settle the disputes between old tenants in the Gift and their new neighbors. That was on top of training the new recruits and ensuring that they had sufficient supplies to handle the population explosion. With the staffing of Queensgate and Deep Lake, Eastwatch, Shadow Tower, and Castle Black were down to less than half of the complement that they had had before Jon had come to the Wall.

For his part Jon was busy assisting Lord Commander Mormont, writing out new edicts, issuing promotions, filling out requests for supplies, filling out transfer notices, taking stock of existing inventory, and assisting the Master of Arms in training the new recruits.

"What are you doing here Lord Snow?" Sir Alliser Thorne, the Master of Arms, had a habit choosing nicknames that stuck. As the man responsible for training the new recruits the names he chose were used whenever he called out to them as well as when he spoke of them to those who had already taken their vow. Only the men who had joined the Watch before him lacked nicknames, though there seemed to be fewer and fewer of them around now than there had been a month ago.

"Are you not training the boys today?" Jon shot back. He had never liked the cruel Master of Arms, nor had he enjoyed the name the man had bestowed upon him. Despite that he always remained respectful of the older man whenever they were together.

The former knight shook his head. The early autumn snow added flecks of white to his already greying locks and his all black outfit, accentuating the unusually clean look that the Master of Arms had about him. "A rider came up from Mole Town."

Jon stood straight at the news. They had received word from Winterfell that the sellsword troupe known as the Stormriders was headed to the Wall with another score of recruits, but that had been only days ago. For two score of riders the trek should have taken a fortnight, but the Stormriders had made the trek in less than half of that time. A quick, rushed ride would take four days, but that was only done if one did not care if the horse lived or not.

The older man handed him a scroll, "They're bringing over another score of fresh recruits. These are my recommendations."

Jon nodded, accepting the scroll before turning around. Of the six score that had come up with Yoren over half of them had already taken the vow. Each of them had repented for their crimes, though what struck him as odd was their easy willingness to take the black. Most rogues needed to be broken before they took the vow else they would try to run off the first chance that they got, yet the three score who had taken the vow seemed to be repentant men. Almost all of them had attributed their change in attitude and outlook to the Stormriders, though most said it was due to one man – Ramza Snowstorm. When pressed they had simply said that they had seen the error in their ways and that they would try their utmost to serve honorably to make up for their past sins.

Word from the south was that Ramza was a kind man. He had won the Melee, and while he had not won the Tourney he had been one of the final eight riders and had bested the Mountain when the formidable man had lost his temper and attempted to kill another rider. He had used his winnings to encourage many families to move to the Gift despite the fact that it was autumn and that they would not be able to harvest anything before the winter. He had also been the one to offer a boy five dragons to take the black, the five going to the boy's family so that they would not starve and could possibly thrive. He had even left some of his troupe in King's Landing to train boys on the condition that they either join the Stormriders when they were old enough or take the black. The same members also offered to pay incentives to any families who would be willing to move north in the late winter so that they could arrive in the Gift in the early spring so that they could better settle in.

In battle the man was said to be a terror that used no shield. He had to be if he led less than a score of fighters against over a hundred bandits. Most of the former bandits claimed that he was the one who bested them, but if that were true then Ramza Snowstorm had bested over seventy men single handedly without killing a single one. Fearsome he might be, but was that enough to inspire those bandits to change their lives to such a degree?

Before he even realized it Jon found himself standing before the Lord Commander's door, rapping gently on the heavy wooden door.

"Come in," the grizzled old man shouted. Jon did as commanded, entering the chamber and closing the door behind himself to shut out the wind of the approaching storm. "Ah, Jon, I had not expected you so soon. Are the Stormriders nearly here?"

Jon nodded as he handed the man the scroll. As the Lord Commander's personal Steward he was privy to much of the coming and goings of his brothers. While grateful for the influx of recruits, many of the senior commanders were skeptical of the Stormriders. Lord Commander Mormont was in the minority, believing that the Stormriders would be useful in adding to their ranks and in establishing an alternative to the young men who wished to serve but whom did not want to take the Black until after they had experienced more of the world.

"And those are the recommendations from Alliser?"

Again Jon nodded as he handed the scroll over. He watched as the old bear eyed the list. He did not need to actually read the list to know who Sir Alliser Thorne had suggested as he had been assisting in the training. Of the recruits that had come up with Yoren only the youngest or the most hardened criminals had yet to be placed.

He suspected that a dozen men were being recommended, all of them to the stewards and builders. They were not as soft as his friend Samwell Tarly, but they were still growing boys three to four years younger than he was. All had wanted to join the Stormriders, but none had the skill needed to join that elite group.

'And yet the Stormriders had a butcher's son and an apprentice blacksmith amongst their number,' he mused.

"Make sure that the Stormriders' quarters are far enough away from the rest of the men," Lord Mormont stated. Jon nodded. That was easy enough given that most of the stalls and quarters were vacant before they had sent half of their men to reclaim the vacant castles. "I doubt that the trainees will bother the Stormriders, even their women, considering that they had been bested by them, but we should be prepared just in case."

That women were apparently coming to the Wall was a rare thing. Sam had told him the last time it had happened was when Queen Alysanne had visited Snowgate which had later been renamed Queensgate in honor of her visit. It was also Queen Alysanne who had granted the Night's Watch the New Gift. But she had been royalty – the women in the Stormriders were supposedly bastard children at best, though some of their newest members had actually worked the brothels in King's Landing.

Like many of the other men Jon was apprehensive about the visit, though he had other reasons for it. The message that he'd received from Rob about the Stormriders had been both a relief and frustrating. He was happy to learn of Bran's miraculous recovery but the fact that the cost was that Bran now rode with the Stormriders was disturbing. The more he thought about it though the more bizarre it all was.

"It is good that we will have some extra hands," Lord Mormont said, interrupting his thoughts. "Tell Thoren to be ready - on the morrow we will venture north for any clues as to what happened to your uncle."

Admittedly Jon hated being assigned as a Steward. Though they were the most numerous of the three they were the most overlooked. Rangers got the glory, Builders maintained the Wall, but Stewards were just there. Yes, they made sure that everything ran efficiently, but they were just cogs. All that Jon did as a steward was relay messages between serving Lord Commander Mormont his meals. It was not that he did not do anything, just that anyone could have done what he was doing.

Yet despite the fact that what he was doing was fairly menial, he and many of the others knew that his current position marked him as the old bear's potential successor. Many of the other senior members of the Night's Watch resented him that fact, believing that they or others were better suited to the position once the old bear finally relinquished his position.

Finding Thoren had not been too difficult a task as the veteran ranger had just returned from a patrol of the Gift with several newly minted Rangers. Since Jon had taken his vow in the weirwoods the furthest any rangers had ventured was perhaps a day or two north of the Wall as the rangers were busy taking their newest members into the forest to teach them to track or were busy hunting so as not to exhaust the limited amount of fresh meat that was in their stores or to supply the re-staffed castles with new stores.

The proposed expedition would be the first since three experienced rangers had gone out a month ago with a pair of rangers who had just taken their vows. Two other groups had gone out as well, but none had returned.

"Master Thoren," he called out to the senior ranger. It was no surprise that Thoren was with Alliser Thorne. Both had come up together since their days in training and remained friends even though one had gone to the Rangers and the other to the Stewards. The fact that both had been from noble houses seemed to bond them as both thought themselves better than most of the other Black Brothers around them.

"Lord Snow." The weak chinned man had a sneering smile as he returned Jon's greeting. "What does Master Mormont want of me today? I just returned from a patrol."

"Lord Commander Mormont," he corrected the sinewy man, "wishes you to lead a search party on the morrow. Select four of the remaining rangers"

"Only five of us?" the former noble interjected. "There were only five who went out last time and they haven't come back yet either."

"There will be five rangers," Jon stated firmly. "Lord Commander Mormont and I will be going out on this expedition along with many of the Stormriders, so the size of the search party will be greater than five."

The look on the former noble's face suggested that he did not like the lesson in math or that the Lord Commander was going to be in charge of. Before he could utter any other protest a guardsman cried out, signaling the approach of riders on the southern road from the castle.

All about the yard men turned to watch as the Stormriders approached. They were a score strong, most mounted, though a few were riding in a wagon. Their mounts were hardy looking beasts, but they did not appear to be stressed or strained as they approached the yard.

'Did they use magic to speed their trek?' he wondered. All of the riders and mounts appeared tired, but they did not seem to be stressed to the point of dying.

Looking over the troupe he was surprised to see that the vast majority of them were perhaps only as old as he was if not younger. The exceptions were the grey beard, Sandor Clegane, another man wearing the standard blue-grey cloak with dark grey fur trim, and three women who appeared to be in their early twenties.

A grey haired man led the troupe riding a peppered mare that appeared to have just completed a light trot. "Master Yoren," he greeted the wandering crow with a firm handshake.

"Master Orlandeau," the ragged crow returned. "I expected to catch you in Winterfell but here I find that you've already made your way to the Wall."

The old man shook his head, "Please, call me Cid."

Yoren nodded, "Well Cid, it has only been a month since I arrived here with the last bunch you provided us, but over half of them have already taken their vow. And here you are with another batch."

"We would have brought more," Cid sighed, "but we were called back to King's Landing. I was looking forward to wintering in the south but with things the way they are we decided to come north instead."

The wandering crow nodded, "The south would be warmer."

"Anywhere south of the Wall is warmer," Jon interjected.

"Cid, this is Jon Snow," Yoren stated as he stepped aside for the young man. "He is the Steward to Lord Commander Mormont."

"You are Eddard Stark's boy," Cid finished as he eyed Jon. "You look more like your father than your brother does."

He was nearly startled by the man's manner. This man cared not for the fact that he was a bastard. Yet it should not have surprised him as the majority of their troupe consisted of bastards. "Thank you," he wasn't sure how he should address the man.

"We rushed here so that the foodstuff we brought with us would not spoil," Cid stated as he waved at the wagon. "I was told that it the Night's Watch often does not have enough fruit and vegetables, so we procured several crates along with some hardy chickens, a rooster, and some goats."

"Come on Joffrey," the speaker was a dirty blond with light green eyes "we should unload the supplies for the Night's Watch."

The Queen's bastard nodded even as he dismounted. He was as exhausted as his mount but he refused to complain. Instead he turned to several prisoners/recruits, directing them to follow him so that they could unload a wagon.

"Jon!"

He spun around, recognizing the boy's voice. The last he'd seen of his half-brother the boy had been broken and unconscious. Maester Luwin had tended to the boy himself and believed that Bran might never wake, much less walk or run again. Bran had woken on his own, recalled how and why he'd been injured, implicating the former Queen and her brother for their treason against the King, and been relegated to living the life of a cripple; yet here he was now running and hugging his brother as though he'd never been injured.

"Bran!" Jon knew that he could not cry in front of his new brothers and their guests. He was a man now and crying was not becoming of a man. Pulling back from his brother's embrace he eyed him. "I… I had not believed…. It is truly a miracle!"

Even as the two human brothers greeted each other their inhuman companions also greeted each other. Summer and Ghost sniffed at each other before rubbing their heads against their respective companion's legs.

"You have the gift as well," a woman stated, interrupting their reunion.

Jon was glad that the black brothers around him were busy unloading the wagon, taking their new supplies to their respective store rooms. Not only had the Stormriders brought them food, but they had brought them armor, swords, bundles of furs and cloth, stacks of leather, and kegs filled with wine, water, and milk.

Even as his new brothers were focused on their new supplies Jon found himself enthralled by the olive skinned woman with her deep brown eyes. Like the other Stormriders she wore a blue-grey cloak, coat and emblem, though her cloak was lined with soft brown fur from a multitude of ferrets.

"Jon, this is Rapha." Bran's introduction barely registered in Jon's clouded mind. Had he not said her name Jon knew that he would not have cared what his brother had said. "She has the gift as well."

"Then I have you to thank for my brother's health," he said as he took her smooth hand, kissing the back of it gently.

"That was Lady Alma's work," Rapha replied with a gentle smile.

"I am as much as lady as you." A slender but buxom young blond marched up to the trio. Her cloak was lined with white rabbit skins.

"You must be Alma," Jon said with a smile as he tore his gaze away from Rapha, "the famed frog tamer."

The blond grinned, "And you are Jon Snow, a pleasure." She extended her hand. He took it and gave her a kiss that matched the one he gave Rapha.

"Jon!" A large, portly boy rushed towards them. "We need to inventory everything that the Stormriders brought us."

"This is Samwell Tarly," Jon introduced his friend to the trio of Stormriders. "He is a Steward like myself, though he spends his time in the library and rookery. Sam, this is my brother Bran."

Bran smiled as he stepped forward. "This is Rapha Sandstorm and Alma Snowstorm."

"Hello," the big boy said, averting his eyes as he bowed to the women.

"You have a bit of the Gift too," Rapha said. Fearlessly she stepped forward, taking his hand in hers. Sam flinched. "Do not be afraid." Her soothing voice calmed the large youth but seemed to make Jon feel a bit jealous. "I can show you both how to create fire that will burn your opponents but not the building or ground they stand on. I can also show you how to heal someone's hands and feet so that they do not lose their limbs to frostbite."

"Re-really?" Jon was surprised by Sam's interest in magic, but the idea that both of them could use magic was terrifying.

"Bran!" A young girl with weedy brown hair waved at Bran from the Stormrider's wagon. Unlike the other women in the Stormriders did not display their emblem nor was she wearing the grey-blue cloaks that the Stormriders and their trainees wore. Beside her stood a boy no older than Arya and bundled in thick brown fur cloaks.

He recalled riding out with Rob and his father down to the Neck where the Crannogmen lived. Unlike the other families that followed the northern lords the Crannogmen did not reside in a castle. Many of the other lords thought little of the Crannogmen as they held little in way of wealth and cared little for titles and rank.

"This is Jojen and Meera Reed," Bran's introduction was not necessary as Jon had met the leader of the Crannogmen years ago. Their father Howland Reed had fought beside Eddard Stark in Robert's Rebellion and was the only other survivor to return with his father when they had gone to free his aunt Lysa. "Jojen has the Gift too, that's why the Stormriders are allowing him to accompany them."

For a moment Jon was startled by his brother's stark honesty.

"I think we should not discuss that in the open," Jojen remarked even as he tried to ignore the presence of the other Crows.

"Oh, right." Bran muttered.

"It appears that the boys are done unloading," Alma stated. Turning to Samwell she offered him a pleasant smile. "I believe this should help – it is a copy of the inventory of the items we brought with us."

"Thank you," Sam replied as he took the scroll from her. "This should help us greatly."

"I would think so." The blond youth that had ordered Joffrey around had returned with a crate over his shoulder. The former prince was also present though he was not having as easy a time with his own crate. "When we spoke with Master Yoren in King's Landing he mentioned that the Night's Watch had many needs beyond manpower. And since we were coming here ourselves we figured that we could bring the supplies that we purchased with Ramza's winnings."

The young Steward blinked, "You are not Ramza?"

The young man smirked, "I am Radd Darkstorm, though many do mistake us for each other…"

Jon looked the man over. He appeared to be no older than himself, yet he held himself with confidence seen only in the most accomplished swordsmen. True, all of the Stormriders held themselves such, but only two others had the fair skin and blond hair that suggested they might be Lannisters, one of them actually was a Lannister, through and through.

"Ramza is the one that shares Alma's blue eyes," Radd stated as he nodded at the blond girl. The youth's dirty green eyes lacked the brightness of Joffrey's, but he did appear to have many of the features that the former princeling had. "But I'm the better looking one."

Joffrey snickered despite himself. When they had met in Winterfell the boy had an heir of pompousness and distain, but this boy was different. He shied away from Jon, but around the Stormriders he seemed warmer and friendly even. Before he had never lifted anything heavier than a full goblet, but now he hefted his armor, weapons, and was helping the others unload the supplies. He had even taken a bastard name, though like the majority of Stormriders had added 'storm' to it so that he was now known as Joffrey Stormhill. "Where shall we take the oil?"

Sam and Jon eyed the Lannister bastard before Sam finally spoke up, "Oil?"

"Lantern oil," Joffrey replied. "Though Beowulf and Gendry have oils and ores for the smith. Mycah and Kenneth have the goats and chickens, but I think they have a few ducks and turkeys too."

"Where is Ramza?" Alma asked as she turned to eye the pair of blondes.

"At the wagon," Radd replied. "He's with Cid and Master Yoren overseeing the transfer of the men."

That was the polite way to put things. Jon knew that often times prisoners who had agreed to take the black were transported in chains if not cages. Regardless of their ability with a blade, bow, or whatever skills they had, they often remained in training until they could prove that they were no longer hardened criminals. Yet none of these "recruits" had been shackled or otherwise appeared to have been imprisoned.

As he pondered this Joffrey and Radd departed with their crates, leaving Sam to lead the young Stormriders as they brought in the supplies. It was a duty that they should have given their prisoners, yet these strange youths had opted to do the work themselves despite rushing to reach the Wall.

"Come on Joff." He turned to see Radd helping the prince turned bastard as the younger blond stumbled. "The sooner we finish unloading the sooner we get to rest."

Joffrey nodded, too tired to even utter a reply.

Following behind the pair Jon made his way towards the supply wagon. While the majority of the Stormriders were unloading the wagon three of them were overseeing the recruits along with the wandering crow Yoren and the Master of Arms Alliser Thorn.

Under normal circumstances it would take the morning to process this many new recruits. The needed to be checked for injuries and any identifying marks or scars, then their belongings needed to be inventoried, equipment needed to be provided, and a room/bed/stall for each of them.

The fact that the Stormriders had brought so many supplies with them though meant that the brothers of the Night's Watch would be busy sorting everything along with trying to sort the new men. Still, it would be good to have some fresh fruits and vegetables. The best that they tended to have were slices of lemon and lime, dry corn and sickly looking carrots.

"Wilfrid remained in King's Landing," he heard the grey beard tell Yoren. "He and a few others are recruiting and training youths for our return in the spring. There are plenty of honest lads looking to see the world and get away from city life. We used a bit of the winnings to buy a house outside of the city proper. The lads are going to be raising some aurochs, pigs, chickens, and goats that they'll bring up on the first ship in the spring. We'll plan to meet them at Eastwatch if everything goes well."

The old crow nodded. Then, spotting Jon he waved the Steward over, "Jon, take this list up to the old bear. He'll want to look over the list of men that are here as well as the things that our guests have brought us."

The rest of the day was a blur of activity as the young Steward rushed to and fro, delivering messages, chasing down the remaining senior members of the Night's Watch at Castle Black, helping the new recruits settle in, and giving the Stormriders repeated thanks for all that they troupe had given them.

* * *

Ramza

Exhaustion barely beat out the chill of the north as the squire settled in for the night. He knew that he'd pushed the other hard with their near breakneck pace. It did not help that they had departed Winterfell in a rush to avoid complicating things with the Starks. Rob Stark had not been happy with the payment that they had demanded from him for healing Bran, nor had he been overly fond of the fact that his brother now traveled with the boy who had wanted him dead. Catelynn Stark was not happy either, but she appeared to be more fearful of the troupe after Alma had turned Theon Greyjoy into a frog. If not for Arya and Sansa swearing for the Stormriders the probably would not have been forced to sneak out unannounced.

It did not help that they had barely avoided yet another autumn snowstorm. Unwilling to have his men endure another, fiercer storm he had pushed the pace, reaching the Wall in a few short days of heavy, long hours, and little sleep.

It was ironic really – the Stormriders had been chased to the Wall by a storm. They had barely finished unloading when the first of the giant snowflakes had blown in. Dining with the Night's Watch had gone better than he had expected with the men that they had captured in the Riverlands helping to ease the transition. It had not surprised him that a good number of them had taken to the Night's Watch as the only reason why some of them had joined the brigands was because they lacked any means of providing for themselves.

Many of the reformed bandits were mere poachers, though some were robbers and thieves. The encampment that they had formed was run by the oldest of the bandits and designed to be a place where the various bandit teams could gather relatively peacefully. Only the most hardened of those criminals had been executed in King's Landing, though some of them were now recruits in the Night's Watch minus a limb or two.

The youngest of the bandits and the poachers had quickly taken to the Night's Watch where they were now getting three square meals a day and had a roof over their heads. They might never become rich lords but their basic needs were being met. That was enough for some, but not for others.

The way that many of the recruits and black brothers were eyeing the women in their troupe made Ramza uneasy. He'd heard from both Radd and Cid about the incident at Winterfell when he had been out on the unsuccessful hunt and to avoid something like that happening here Cid had ordered that the girls not go anywhere alone while they were in Castle Black. Ramza had taken things further and had them stay together.

Apparently the Lord Commander had also thought it wise to keep the Stormriders separated from the Night's Watch. He had provided them with guest quarters and allowed them to use the stables far from the Sworn Brothers of the Night's Watch.

Allowing the others to rest, Ramza had stayed up much of the night on guard. Something was gnawing at his gut, but what he couldn't say. Many of the others had grumbled about posting a watch, but ultimately they had put together two watches consisting of three members each. They slept in their armor and kept their weapons nearby as though they were sleeping on the road.

Part of the reason that he was uncomfortable was that Castle Black was not a castle, merely a group of buildings sheltered by the gigantic structure that was the Wall. A titanic tunnel at the far end of the yard ringed by stables, a few towers and rookeries, a smithy, more stables, an armory, and several vacant buildings made up Castle Black. Yes, there were stairs and a lift that took one up the Wall, and even a few lookout towers built into this side of the Wall, but there were no other defenses.

The Wall itself was immense. For a structure made out of ice and stone it was even more impressive. Standing over seven hundred feet tall Ramza doubted that he could leap to one of the lower landings and work his way up that way.

The Wall was close to fifty feet wide at the top and closer to eighty at the base about Castle Black. The tunnel that went through the wall could be sealed by a lowering a door of wrought black iron bars thicker, each thicker than a young man and coated in inches of ice that closed the gaps between the bars. It was formidable, but not impenetrable.

From what he had heard from the wildling woman Osha, hundreds of wildlings made their way through the Wall each year leading to pillaging and raiding of the Gift and of the northlands. Some dared to climb the wall, though it was more likely that there were some tunnels beneath the mountains that could be navigated to bypass the Wall.

Even if all of the recruits that they had brought joined and there were no desertions the Night's Watch only had five hundred men, far too few to patrol over three hundred miles of the Wall and the lands of the Gift. That was why they were here. Though there were only a score of them their presence gave the Night's Watch additional manpower. The disappearance of several of their senior rangers was a serious thing but without the manpower to tackle the issue they had been forced to forgo sending out any further search parties.

The blizzard that had chased the Stormriders to the Wall had erased all tracks, even the ones from the Builders that had come out to cut trees. Trudging through deep drifts Ramza was glad to have their mounts. The going was slow, though compared to their rushed trek from Winterfell everything was slow.

Not all of the Stormriders had ventured north of the Wall – Gendry, Beowulf, and Cid had remained to check over the inventory that they had brought in as well as go over the supplies that the Night's Watch had and what they would need. For their part the Night's Watch had sent five rangers, one of them even a senior ranger, as well as the Lord Commander and two stewards, Samwell Tarly and Jon Snow.

The first few days of their expedition yielded little though they did manage to catch the trail of the last search party. Given their numbers he was not surprised that they did not encounter anyone or anything except for the remains of kills, burnt out fires and abandoned campsites, and various tracks.

It was on the third day that he and the Lord Commander agreed to break into three groups to broaden the scope of their search. The central group was half a day's ride from the outer groups so that they were never too far away to receive or offer support for the other groups.

On the fourth day Ramza's group encountered a herd of deer. They managed to take down three of them and with Mycah's help they were able to clean and smoke them all.

The fifth saw a blizzard overtake them, forcing them to hide in their tiny makeshift tents but given them time to rest. It was this day that Jon Snow finally managed to catch him alone as the blond stood guard. They'd spoke little to each other the entire excursion, though Jon did speak to the Stormriders that were around Bran.

"Why Bran?" the younger bastard asked as he planted himself beside the Stormriders.

Ramza glanced at the other man before returning his focus on the trees and forest around him. "I did not choose him," he replied. "The others say that Bran has the Gift to a degree that exceeds anything that you, Jojen, Samwell, or Arya have. I believe them."

"And if it had been anyone else?"

"We would have asked for them to come with us too."

"But why?"

"We need good men and women in our troupe," he explained. "War is coming, and to deal with that war we need men like Bran."

"But he is not a man, he's a boy."

"To learn the mystic arts one needs to start young," Ramza said, repeating the words that Rapha had provided him when she had first told him that the boy had the potential to be one of the most powerful magi in this world.

"And yet you claim that you could teach Sam and myself magic?"

He was about to retort that the Stormriders had varying degrees of magical aptitude, but his instincts kicked in and his hand went to his hilt. "Watch closely," he hissed out as he drew his blade, "you may see combat magic at work soon enough."

To his credit Jon did not stumble or even fall back as Ramza jumped to his feet, shedding his blankets even as he drew his steel. "To Arms!"

Meliadoul was the first to her feet, followed by Rapha, Katia, Sandor, and Joffrey. Alma, Meera, Jojen, and Bran along with Sam and Lord Commander Mormont were the last to rouse.

He could feel the chill in the air, something beyond even that of the northern night, and the slight twitch he received whenever he encountered the undead. Given the unholy opponents that he had fought when he had possessed the holy stones that sense had been honed as fine as any blade he used.

"Meliadoul, Rapha – you're to defend," he ordered the women. " Alma – you're support. Sandor, Joffrey, Katia, follow me. I'll take the point but you get any that slip past me."

Katia and Sandor nodded though Joffrey looked a bit squeamish. "Use your range," he added as he nodded at large boulder. "Get up there and call out anything that you see."

Joffrey nodded, taking up his crossbow and rushing atop the snow covered boulder.

Beyond the reach of the campfire the first of the figures appeared in the shadows. The pale white of its fur suggested that it had once been an ice bear but the blackened patches of exposed flesh suggested otherwise. Standing on its hind legs it was towered over even Sandor.

"Lord Commander," he added as he spied Jon and the direwolves, "it would be best if Jon and Sam remained with Lady Alma – they can observe her spell work as well as keep guard over her as spell work is significantly slower than swordplay."

He did not bother to wait for a reply as he turned to Bran, "Jojen, Meera, Bran, I suggest perching yourself on the rocks as well. Use your crossbows to harass them and keep Summer to defend your position."

They nodded and quickly found a way up another boulder and left the direwolf to defend the slope that lead to the tiny plateau.

Two smaller bears, probably the first one's cubs, joined it along with over a dozen men with various degrees of armor and weapons ambled towards the campfire. Behind him Sandor and Katia flanked him.

"Stay close to the fire," he shouted. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he physically and mentally prepared for the battle. "Stay behind me."

The shambling host advanced quickly, covering the fifty yards that separated the two parties in a matter of minutes. Joffrey's bolt hit home against one of the undead men, striking it squarely in the chest and piercing its heart. Meera's stone shattered an unarmored arm while Bran's arrow buried itself in the same creature's leg. Jon's arrow bounced off the helmed head of an undead brother of the Night's Watch while Sam's landed several feet short and wide of any target.

There was just enough time for Ramza to shout encouragement to the snipers before he felt the beginnings of a magical barrage. Alma was the first to strike, blasting the undead bears with her magical fire. The simple but powerful combat magic startled the brothers of the Night's Watch but did little to discourage the undead. As sudden as the assault was it was over in an instant. Only charred flesh and the smell of burn hair remained as evidence of the attack.

In the distance west he head similar explosions, a sign that the Radd's group were facing similar circumstances.

Urged on by the plight of his troupe he charged at the undead bear. Ducking under a powerful swipe he drove his shoulder and blade into the beast's stomach. Between his own momentum and the bear's he managed to drive the first of his blades into the creature hilt deep. A slight spin allowed him to extract the ancient blade though it eviscerated the monster. He completed his spin, landing a blow with his other blade, severing the spine.

Even without its lower limbs the beast tried to pull itself towards him, blackish ickier oozing out of from the wound. Slamming his foot down onto its skull he only drove it deeper into the packed snow beneath.

Before he could finish it off the cubs were on him. He parried a swipe, cleaving the deadly claw from the rest of the arm then locked the creature's jaws by ramming his blade up the creature's jaw and through the skull. The sickly light in the monstrosity's eye sockets faded even as the mysterious ickier bled out of the undead beast.

He managed to maneuver himself so that the motionless cub shielded him from the still moving one. Kicking off of the first cub he managed to extract it from the skull and encumber the other undead cub as he threw the first's body onto the second.

A bolt from Joffrey whistled through the air, striking the mother and pinning its paw to the hardened snow, allowing Ramza to shatter its skull with the hilt of his blades.

He could hear the sound of metal on metal as Sandor engaged a pair of undead crows. For a man of his size he moved with a dexterity and speed that would have left many breathless. Unfortunately his display failed to impress the undead men though it did keep them at bay.

Rapha's unique Skyseer magic filled the clearing with thunderous bursts of fire, striking down one of the reanimated men and blowing away bits of three others. Five rapid explosions missed, but four had not. While the Skyseer magic was even less predictable than regular magic, it was equally effective and less draining on the user. Still, it would be a few minutes before she could use it again and by then their enemies would be too close for Rapha to risk using it.

Four undead wildlings surrounded Katia though she had managed to disable a fifth. He felt the pressure of powerful magic being conjured and knew it to be Meliadoul's handiwork. A towering titan dropped from the sky, flames dancing about him burning the undead that had surrounded Katia. Then suddenly it was gone, leaving no trace of its existence save for five smoldering but still moving bodies and red hot armor that melted the snow drifts.

Dashing past the bewildered girl Ramza cut down the animated corpse of a man of the Night's Watch, his skilled blades cleanly cutting through the leather leggings and brittle bones in the legs so that it could no longer stand.

The inexperienced Katia managed to regain her wits to the point that she blocked a blow with her shield then countered with a crushing strike to the creature's helmed head. Before she could press her advantage one of the remaining undead lashed out with its sword, forcing her to dance out of the way.

Another bolt from Joffrey pierced the hot helm of an undead, shattering the skull and dropping the creature. The cub and bear were ripped apart by the fearless direwolves, leaving nothing to threaten the magi and the sworn brothers of the Night's Watch or their skittish mounts.

Two more creatures opted to attack Ramza, though his swift blades carved through their armor and burnt flesh and ended their second life.

Katia separated the head from her attacker's torso only to take a glancing blow that left her furs a bit more ventilated but her armor held. Still, she would be nursing a bruise if not a broken rib.

Sandor's giant sword forced his opponents to keep their distance, though he was now holding his ground against the three undead that hounded him. The rest shambled past him as they targeted the more dangerous magi. It was clear that they were not unintelligent as they recognized the threat that Alma, Rapha, and Meliadoul presented them. Yet they kept just enough of their number to harass the frontline.

"Come on!" he shouted, encouraging the others. He could feel a surge of adrenaline reaching his muscles. Turning around he caught Katia's signal that she could handle the two remaining undead that harried her. Sandor nodded as well, allowing him to rush past them.

The snipers managed to take down two of the seven that marched relentless towards Alma and the others. Jon managed to fend one off but it was Meliadoul and Rapha that took out one each with their respective weapons. A wicked slash removed a strap, leaving the undead crow's back exposed for a second stab through the heart that made the body immediately go limp.

Alma's next spell sent a refreshing breeze through the clearing even though it centered on Katia. The immediate effect was that Katia was reinvigorated as she fought her opponents whom suddenly seemed to lose a step.

Sandor managed to liberate an arm from one of his attackers though the creature continued to attack with its remaining arm. Katia took the legs out from underneath one of her attackers then pinned it to the ground as she stabbed it with her sword. Taking up the nearly disabled creature's sword she used it batter away at the others.

Another volley of arrows, bolts and stones took out another undead while Ghost and Summer pulled another apart. Even Samwell managed to take one out as he stabbed at one with an arrow while Jon and Lord Commander Mormont kept it occupied.

Finally the undead were put to rest, though they all agreed that burning the remains was necessary once the five crows had been identified. By the time they had managed to get the fire going Kenneth's group arrived. Seeing that they were fine Ramza sent them to check on Radd's team.

"It has been years since any of us encountered the Others," the old bear finally said as he eyed the discarded swords and helms that they had used to identify the undead crows.

Jon eyed the growing fire, "Winter is coming."


End file.
